A/N: I'M WRITING AGAIN WOO We'll see how long this lasts. =P I think that gainful employment has been a huge help in getting me motivated to do... well, anything again.

Since I last updated, there's been an adorable addition to the story's art! A pair of super cute Sebastian/Hawke chibis by fuckyeahvarric on tumblr. bit_ly/JmRnU3 (Replace the underscore with a period. FFnet apparently hates links.)

Yes, she's in a kilt. DEAL WITH IT, SEBASTIAN. DEAL.

Anyway, enjoy!


"Ah! To your left!"

An arrow sank into the ground as a brown-and-white hare darted into the brambles, narrowly avoiding a pointy demise.

"Damnit," Lord Lesley muttered. "Quick little ball of fluff, isn't he?"

Sebastian agreed, pulling his arrow out of the grass, shaking loose clumps of dirt that came with it. Bruce Lesley was a good friend of his late elder brother, the former crown prince. The hunting trip had been his idea, and their two companions were nobles he held a close kinship with in court.

Lord Edgar MacLendon hailed from the main city, and was the eldest of the group. He had a red beard to rival Bann MacDougall's, but was far less physically intimidating. Known for his ties to Starkhaven's northern neighbor, including an Antivan wife, he was often called in to consult on diplomatic conflicts.

Cedric Russell, though the first son of Bann Russell of Lea (the region directly east of the city proper), was more well known for his position as the commander of the Royal Archers. The youngest man to achieve that rank since their inception, his white-blond locks and lack of facial hair made him look even more youthful. His skills were formidable, though, and Sebastian was more than happy to have him along.

Their host, Lesley, was a notorious moderate, and frequently the target of ire in heated debates because of his famous even temperament. The cool veneer, the prince suspected, was a product of having such a volatile young wife, who herself had been the one to put them up to their current task.

"No wonder the accursed rodents have become such a pest," he mused, whistling for his dogs to rush into the bushes and flush out any burrows.

Sebastian eyed the large wicker basket that one attendant carried, which already held at least a dozen carcasses. "Well," he said, "at least Hawke will be pleased for some time. She especially loves the way I prepare rabbit."

MacLendon chuckled, stroking the large falcon on his forearm and shaking his head. "Sebastian," he told the prince, "you are whipped, boy."

"I am?" Gesturing to Lesley, Sebastian smiled. "So what of the man who leaps to form an extermination squad when his wife complains that rabbits have gotten into the gardens?"

"Not whipped," Lesley corrected him, "smart. You'll learn the difference when you marry."

"Speaking of which," the blonde commander interrupted as he refilled his quiver, "does your lady shoot?"

"Never held a bow in her life." He had once offered to teach her, but she refused. "Adamantly prefers steel and magic, I'm afraid."

The others exchanged pointed glances.

"I hadn't heard that the Champion was a mage," Russell said calmly, clearing his throat.

"Ah!" Sebastian waved a hand. "Hawke is no mage – she has augmented lyrium in her daggers. And an expert rune enchanter on retainer."

Their relief was palpable, and the dogs' baying alerted them to an incoming drive.

"Heads up, lads!" Lesley called, whistling as the archers drew their bows and MacLendon readied his bird.

Sure enough, the spotted hounds chased near five or six plump rabbits from the underbrush, snapping and barking even as dirt and debris were kicked into their faces.

Sebastian immediately loosed three shots in quick succession after a brown hare zigzagging across the meadow. The last of them connected with the hip, and he quickly sent a fourth arrow to end the animal's suffering, whispering a short prayer as he turned to the next target, taking care to avoid the dogs. Well-trained as they were, they were also momentarily tangles of fur and adrenaline in the face of prey. The red-and-white setter chased one of the rodents straight toward him, and the archer hit his mark dead on as he passed.

He spun, crouched and ready, but the lack of movement stilled his hand. "Is that the lot?" he asked, lowering his bow.

"Almost," Cedric replied, aiming out across the open grass at a flash of white against the weeds. "I've two already, but there's one a ways out."

MacLendon waved him down. "Hold your fire," he warned, "Lyra's got him in her sights."

They watched as the bird circled overhead, achieving her perfect pitch before stooping at her lop-eared quarry. A flurry of feathers and talons later, she returned obediently to her master's glove, and he rewarded her with a chunk of meat from his pouch before depositing her kill in the basket. She wiped her beak on his sleeve affectionately, MacLendon not seeming to mind the bloody smear at all.

"Come," Bruce said, patting his legs to call his dogs to heel. "My men reported warrens found on the south end of the fields."

The four began walking at a leisurely pace, Sebastian hooking the bow across his back and keeping astride their host as their attendants collected the felled pests.

"So tell me, Vael," his companion began casually, "why do you wish to rule?"

That caught the archer by surprise, and he chuckled a bit as his heart rate returned to normal. "You spare nothing," he marveled, "do you?"

Lord Lesley smirked as he scratched one of his dogs behind a pair of wavy-furred ears. "I believe in speaking frankly and clearly. If a man can't articulate his reasons without clouding them in fancy terms, I have no reason to listen to his nonsense."

Sebastian nodded. "And I appreciate your brevity. I will do my best to return it in kind." He clasped his hands behind his back, looking up at the sunlight as it filtered through the branches overhead.

"I have no confidence in Goran as a ruler," he started, "especially when his ascension to the throne was engineered by the same conniving woman who slaughtered my family like beasts. I also am aware of past and present plots on my own life, and while I do not expect them to cease when I become prince, I likewise do not have any intention of surrendering."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "This is about revenge, then?"

"No," Sebastian replied firmly, "my time in the Chantry, and subsequently with the Champion, have shown me that revenge is a fruitless path that leaves a man less of what he was and cannot bring back what was lost." He turned to make eye contact, sincere. "I do this for Starkhaven and her people."

"And in order to do that, you are prepared to abandon your faith?"

The prince paused thoughtfully. "I did not abandon my faith," he said. "I fully intend to rule with the Maker guiding my path, bringing His light to the people." Flashes of his ministry in Kirkwall, at the slums and darktown, tugged at his chest. "I will admit to questioning my way frequently in Kirkwall," he told the nobleman, "and wondering how something so small and insignificant as a single life could change the fortunes of so many. The destitute, the starving, the widowed – there was an endless flood of despair that will never leave my memory. I felt helpless and held devastating doubts." He gestured with his hands as he spoke. "As one brother, I could do so little, but as a ruler, there is much good to be done! The Blight left many struggling."

"Noble," Bruce said appreciatively, scratching the side of his face. "It truly is, make no mistake. However, that alone –"

"The scale of destruction in Ferelden has also left a power vacuum," Sebastian interrupted. "They work to resolve problems within their own borders and lack a strong voice among Thedas' central nations."

Surprise evident across his face, the dark-haired man nodded. "And here we come to what I was about to ask! Please, continue."

At his words, it was as though a locked gate within the archer had burst open, like the state of mind and presence of a prince that he had buried over the years had been dug up and shaken loose. "To begin with," he started, "many of the Ferelden refugees are skilled craftsmen and knowledgeable in techniques that could prove useful, especially given the lack of experienced tradesmen in the outer Starkhaven territories. They are confined to poverty in Kirkwall – incentives to travel would likely prove invaluable to increasing our own artisan populations and strengthen the border settlements and villages."

"How did you know about–"

"It has always been an issue," Sebastian explained. "Our borders expand faster than we can successfully manage. We're nearly at Tantervale's doors, which I feel we can utilize. Should we bring Tantervale into the Starkhaven bannorn, we would have the resources for a mounted army to protect the more fragile parts of our expansion as our people move southward. I would also reinstate the royal archers to their previous status and priority, as I have seen very little in the way of defenses throughout my visit." He adjusted the straps on one of his gloves as he considered his next words. "Our position on the river lends itself well to trade, which has been less of a focus in the last few years, has it not? As we are now, we could easily displace Kirkwall as a central port, or at least compete on equal footing. On that same border, I firmly believe in strengthening Starkhaven's ties with Antiva, as supply from Ferelden is already strained and there is evidence that Orlais will soon become equally unreliable in its exports."

MacLendon caught up to them at that. "My wife will be happy to hear that, not a doubt," he interjected, "but what evidence do you refer to?"

"There have been reports that there are a fair number of Orlesians actively fueling tensions with Ferelden," the prince told him, "and while not a certainty, Starkhaven's dependency on Orlesian goods would leave us crippled in the event of a war. Antiva's strong merchant veins are worth investing in, should it come to that."

Laughing, Bruce clapped him on the back – something he'd done to Sebastian often as a child. "Well done," he called, beaming at him, "especially for a scrawny whelp! I'll admit to underestimating you, Vael, but you can't say you'd blame me."

"Indeed," MacLendon agreed, "you've really thought this through, it seems. The change in you is... quite something."

"Time away has given me the perspective to see my home from an outsider's point of view," he said slowly, "especially the flaws. Our lands should be self-sufficient, well-guarded, and as strong in character as they have ever been." He smiled at the two married men in his midst, remembering Hawke's words to him the night the Bann had announced their engagement.

"I swore to my future bride that I would make Starkhaven safe for our family," he said warmly, "and I will keep that first and foremost in my heart."

"Ah, the lady Champion." MacLendon smirked, adjusting the hood on his bird's head. "A fine asset, to you and our lands. You've done well to bring her here, but can you keep her?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Come now, man!" Bruce crossed his arms. "You were never a one-woman boy. Do you mean to say that you've miraculously lost your taste for it?"

Sebastian smirked at their disbelief, rather enjoying it now. "Actually," he began casually, "I've kept chaste since taking my vows some years ago." At their protests ("Maker, why?" "No wonder you've had such free time to ponder ruling!"), he laughed.

"In addition, I believe you all met my betrothed last night at the banquet?" He bit back another broad smile as warmth spread through his fingers. "I don't think I could touch another woman for the rest of my life."

The smug looks on their faces told him everything.

"Poor sod," Bruce said, shaking his head as he sent his dogs to the next set of warrens.

"Whipped," added MacLendon, and a flash of blonde passed them as Russell jogged by.

"I agree," he chimed in as he followed the dogs, "and I'm not even yet married."

Sebastian sighed, keeping apace. "Besides," he continued, "she's slain a dragon. Can you imagine what would befall me if I ever strayed?"

"That's good then," nodded Bruce. "A good, strong woman to support you – and keep you in line."

"Aye; Bann MacDougall says the same."

"He's a smart man," his brother's friend concurred, "which is why I agreed to this meeting. It seems Guinn doesn't disappoint. Truth be told..." He whistled, and one of the retrievers came back to his feet. "That in itself'd have been enough to throw in with you, his support."

Sebastian should have been surprised, he supposed, but he'd apparently underestimated the Bann's influence. "Then why meet with me at all?"

"Wanted to see what kind of man you'd become," Bruce replied flatly, turning and extending his hand. "And I'm more than satisfied."

The prince clasped his wrist enthusiastically, about to speak when he was interrupted by the baying of hounds readying another flush of hares.

Lord Lesley sighed, and Sebastian drew his bow.

"Get used to this, lad," he said as they ran up ahead. "I can only imagine what your lady wife can dream up to torture you with."

Recalling the incident in the bath and her outburst during the one dance, Sebastian couldn't help but chuckle. "That may be so," he smirked, "but no good Starkhaven man worth his salt wouldn't give as good as he got."

"Good man!" MacLendon laughed, releasing his falcon. "We'll see how long that attitude lasts!"


The thousands of triangular pennants hanging in the streets fluttered like a kaleidescope against the walls and roofs of the market district. The festival celebrating Goran's nameday would continue until the day itself at the end of the week, culminating in an appearance by the man himself. Until then, the streets were crowded, noisy and absolutely wonderful.

Sebastian inhaled deeply, the smell of various food stalls heavy in the air. Meats and cream-filled cakes were everywhere, and there was music playing someplace nearby, drowned out by the voices of the crowd and loud calls of vendors.

He browsed through the racks and racks of wares, the bearlike Bann close beside him. As he stopped to peruse a collection of carved wooden hairpins, MacDougall snorted.

"Feeling a need t' be pretty today, lad?"

Sebastian smiled at him over one shoulder. "I do make an effort."

An assortment at the back caught his eye, all polished walnut with feathers dangling on delicate gold chains from their heads. "Hawke has an affinity for feathers," he explained, rolling one between his fingers, "and she should start building her collection of finery now."

The Bann frowned. "Hasn't she got a set already?"

Raising one eyebrow, Sebastian tried not to laugh. "Hawke, finery? Andraste's mercy, no!" He crossed his arms and smiled. "She has armor enough to fill a barn, surely, but I think she owns all of two gowns, and it's the hand of the Maker himself if they aren't in tatters or covered in blood by now."

"Right." MacDougall scratched his beard thoughtfully. "When Beatrice moved into th' keep after th' wedding, she came with trunks enough t' fill a room. I just figured..." He sighed. "Agh. Th' Champion'll take some work, won't she?"

"Aye," the prince said as he dropped a few coins into the artist's hand and slid the ornament into his hip pouch. "Though she will do well. I've no doubt that the people of Starkhaven will adore their princess."

"She does have a way with people," the Bann admitted, "she even won Cendre over, and that's no easy feat. But princess-ly things, like th' dressing and th' history of th' city and th' names and faces, that sort of business." He shot the younger man a meaningful look. "Your lady's got a world of an undertaking ahead. Ye do understand this, don't ye?"

Sebastian straightened, glancing at the Bann warily. What was he getting at? "Of course."

"Good." Seemingly satisfied, the taller man turned his attention to a stall boasting an impressive plethora of decorative daggers. "She's a good woman, that Hawke. Going through all this for your sake – thank th' Maker next ye pray that she loves ye, lad."

Ah.

It was like something had taken hold of opposite ends of Sebastian's stomach and twisted it tightly. How does an honest man respond to such a statement, he wondered as he flexed his fingers, when he knows it to be untrue?

"One can only hope," he said, hoping to sound nonchalant as he admired a skein of wool. An enormous hand catching his wrist firmly, however, proved the Bann unconvinced. Sebastian turned to see a troubled look across MacDougall's face.

"Those," he told the prince meaningfully, "are not th' words of a confident man."

A weary smile made its way across Sebastian's lips as he laid a hand across the Bann's reassuringly. "Do not mistake me, my friend." The Bann released him, and the archer began walking again, the rhythm of his feet against the cobblestone helping to bring the words forth calmly. "Hawke and I have a great deal of respect for one another. We each have our own reasons for agreeing to the betrothal, and the Champion of Kirkwall and the Prince of Starkhaven is a strong alliance. You needn't worry."

The Bann frowned as he followed. "Aye," he agreed, "respect is important in a marriage, but..." He clapped a hand down on the prince's shoulder sympathetically. "Can ye live with just that?"

One squeeze of the giant's plate-sized palm, and Sebastian knew that the Bann of Shallervale understood far more than he had given him credit for.

"Greed is a sin," he said carefully, "and I already have more than I deserve."

After a moment, the Bann vigorously ruffled Sebastian's hair. "Ye may be even better suited t' th' crown than I thought," he told him firmly. "Ye've made the first hard decision that's best for th' people."

The prince chuckled as the familiar sensation rippled through his scalp just the same as it had when he was a boy. "Though I would release her from it, should she ask it of me."

"Ye'd better not!" The man's playful shove nearly sent Sebastian flying into a nearby vendor. "Love comes with time! Be patient, lad. Ye think me and th' wife got along when we first wed?" He ran a hand through his beard, nose wrinkled as though he'd smelled something unpleasant. "Were like mountain lions fighting over th' same cave. Never could keep track of how many dishes we broke and guests we scared off." He paused. "Though that might've been th' first stirrings of passion. Can never tell with that woman."

"Hawke also has a Starhaven woman's arm with plates." The prince sighed. "We'd do well to keep them happy, or else there won't be enough potters in all of the Free Marches to save us."

"Reminds me," MacDougall grumbled, "Cendre said she wanted a pin in th' babe's birthstone. There's a jeweler at th' end of th' street there we can have a look at."

The archer's eyes briefly caught on a handsome pair of doeskin archery gloves fitted for a woman, wondering if he should pick something out for Hawke as a gift for not throwing a single punch the previous night, a near-miraculous feat for the Champion. He eyed the stalls as they passed, racks full of fabric and weapons and imported goods that reeked of perfumed incense and scented oils. Nothing in particular struck him, though he was hit with a sudden sense of energized longing, as though he wanted nothing more than to bring Hawke here at this very moment and show her the wonder of the place she would soon call home.

There would be celebrations like this yet to come in their lives together, he thought as he stopped a moment to take in the sights and sounds around him. For his coronation, for their wedding, the births of their children. If he ever had cause for joy, he would share it with his people.

The city would be bustling and vibrant again many times over, if he had any hand in it.

He jogged to catch up to MacDougall, who had already found the massive jeweler's stall. Admiring the walls that held glittering adornments and other trinkets, he nodded appreciatively. "This is quality workmanship."

"Many thanks, my lord," called the silversmith, who held out a collection of pieces with bright blue gems for the Bann to inspect. "All made right here in Starkhaven, gems straight from Orzammar."

Squinting, MacDougall held a brooch up into the light to inspect it. "Ye can engrave these, then?"

"Yes, my lord. Anything with a sealed setting."

The Bann grunted an understanding as he considered two pieces, finally indicating a wreath of tulips surrounding a sovereign-sized stone. "This one. And on the back, ah..." He frowned, scratching his nose. "Sod it. Write: 'For th' babe. Learn t' dodge. From Grandda Guinn.'"

Sebastian chuckled, pretending to be engrossed in a set of necklaces.

"Go on and laugh," the Bann snorted. "Best advice I never got."

"I don't doubt it." Sebastian's eyes traveled downward, where brightly-colored silk ribbons joined pairs of rings together as they hung daintily on pins.

Wedding bands, he realized as he leaned down to get a closer look. All designed to interlock in some small, delicate way.

"What," the Bann asked, incredulous, "ye haven't got a pair yet?"

The prince smirked, resisting the urge to inform his friend that the engagement had only been decided upon after he'd announced it to a room full of his countrymen.

"I haven't had the time," he answered. It was the truth, anyway. His blue eyes glinted as he smiled up at the Bann. "You think I should, then?"

The bear-man's response was an exasperated glare.

Sebastian tried not to smile as he made his selection and wrote the inscription for the smith. "Please send these along with the brooch," he told the shopkeeper, "to Bann MacDougall's man – oomph!"

He stumbled sideways mid-sentence as something solid connected with his left leg. As he regained his balance, he felt strange vibration and a dull pressure through the leather of his pants. He looked down, only to see a young boy of no more than five with a pair of miniature clay horns tied around his head and his arms wrapped around the prince's knee.

And he was chewing on him.

And growling.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, looking to the Bann, who seemed far too entertained to be of any use. Well, he thought, he doesn't look blighted, so there's no danger of that.

"Hello there," he called down, his thick accent rolling over the syllables and betraying his amusement.

"H'lo," came the reply, muffled by a mouthful of leather-clad thigh.

"Can I ask the name of the young lad trying to eat me?"

"I'm not a lad," the boy said, finally pulling his mouth away but not relinquishing his hold around the knee. "I'm a wyvern."

"Are you, now?" He tilted his head as the large eyes of a child blinked up at him. "Tell me then, wee beastie, where's your mother?"

"Home," was the simple declaration. "I'm out hunting."

"Hunting? Are you hungry?"

The boy nodded, dragging the back of one hand across his mouth.

After looking around a moment, Sebastian leaned down and pointed to a cart selling meat-stuffed bread rolls.

"I'll make a trade with you, then. My leg for two of those buns."

That did the trick. Just as his knee sighed in relief at the lack of crushing pressure, the prince was met with a pair of arms thrust up at him as the boy anticipated being picked up. And though he hesitated at first, it only took moments for Sebastian to smile and scoop the boy up onto his hip as he walked.

Rolls in hand, the nameless boy wolfed the first bun down, taking his time on the second, all the while enjoying his high vantage point.

"You haven't told us your name, wyvern," Sebastian pointed out as he adjusted his arms and navigated the crowd.

"You haven't said yours either."

The Bann shrugged. "Lad's got a point."

"My name is Sebastian Vael," he said, holding tight to the boy as he gave a deep mock bow. Squealing, the child clung to him with his free hand and giggled like a madman. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Wyverns don't have names," the boy announced. "Is this a real bow?"

"Yes, it – "

"Do you know how to use it?"

"I was trained with the Royal Archers when – "

"Does that mean you're good? Da said that the Royal Archers can shoot snow from the sky!"

Five minutes with this child and I'm already exhausted, Sebastian thought as he ignored the Bann's snicker. Maker help me when my own come.

"I've not tried," he said thoughtfully, "but the next snowfall, I will. I promise you."

As they came to the main square, the Bann thumbed toward a panicked-looking woman frantically scanning the crowd from atop the base of the sculpture.

"I'd say that's our mother wyvern," he said. They made their way over, and the Bann reached up to tap her on the shoulder. "This one yours?" he asked, gesturing to the squirming mass of limbs crawling over the other man's shoulder in an attempt to reach his quiver.

The look of relief on her face as MacDougall helped her down was all the answer he needed. "Lucas," she called, "thank the Maker you're safe."

"And very energetic," the prince added, now holding the boy upside-down by his ankles. Lucas giggled and swung his arms wildly as he was gently lowered to the ground, then tightly grabbed by his mother.

"You gave me such a fright!" She looked him all over, checking for scratches or cuts. "I thought for sure they'd taken you. They never give second notices."

Sebastian was about to ask what she meant by that when she abruptly turned to them, offering a weak smile.

"I'm glad that folk such as you found him," she sighed, facing her son. "Say a proper thanks to the nice men."

Groaning, the boy swung around and nodded. "Thank you, Ser Bear-face. Thank you, Ser Vael."

"Bear-face," MacDougall muttered and shook his head as the woman immediately snapped her head to the prince, eyes wide.

"Vael?"

"This is Sebastian," the boy explained excitedly. "He's a Royal Archer, like Da was."

Her free hand flew to her face, realization bringing alarm. "Maker," she whispered. "Prince Sebastian. I–"

Sebastian held up a hand to cut her off, smiling warmly. "Your son's a good lad. I'm sure he'll tell you all about his adventure." He leaned down, hands on his knees as he told the boy: "Though I'd leave out the part where you bit me, were I you."

This seemed to ease her panic somewhat, and she managed a quick curtsey and "thank you so very much, my lord" before hurrying off with her son in tow. As they watched her go, Sebastian frowned.

"Who, exactly, doesn't give second notices?"

The Bann frowned, crossing his arms. "Shady element around here's gotten a lot stronger since Goran was put in place. Everyone's so focused on solidifying th' crown they've forgotten about th' people." He nodded in the direction she ran. "Lot of loans from bad places, collect what they can from folk when they don't come through. Lot of th' children don't come back. Shop owners getting run out of their stores if they don't pay th' local thugs, burglaries, muggings, all of that. Shot straight up th' instant th' people in charge stopped looking their way. Or started helping them for a cut of th' profits."

Something inside of the prince went cold as MacDougall explained the result of the nobles' neglect and the city's subsequent corruption. Even now, they spent their time jockeying for power in the presence of a weak claim and a puppet whose only purpose was to sit there and watch. Meanwhile, the people outside suffered and lived with fear and doubt in what should have been one of the safest cities in Thedas.

This was the Maker's land, founded under His sight for the sake of peace and order. For the rulers of such a place to overlook the lives of those they were meant to protect was unacceptable.

"Guinn," he asked solemnly, "Can one man truly do something to change all this?"

"Aye," the Bann answered, "th' right man could."

"And do you believe that I am that man?"

He turned to him, completely earnest, and MacDougall met his eyes firmly. "I think ye were meant to try," he replied, "and that's why ye're not alone."


Sebastian wanted to see Hawke.

He looked out the window of his - or rather, their room - in the Bann's estate, noting the rise of the moon in the night sky. She hadn't been at dinner, which finished hours ago. And as he sat and waited, he wondered when it was that seeing her face and hearing her voice had become so important to him that he became anxious without it. What had changed, he mused, that her presence could bring him such peace? He had always been happy to see his friend, even when she was merely ducking into the Chantry to hide and pulled him along for company.

Less than two weeks ago, though, she had promised to support him in his efforts to take the crown and continue to be that support as both princess and wife.

That in itself sounded like the first of the wedding vows, he thought as he looked down at the grounds, which still held no sign of her. His feet had grown restless, and reading brought him no solace. After a few failed attempts to leaf through historical novels or poetry collections, Sebastian fell back to the one thing he could always count on to clear his mind. As he sat in front of the fire and began to polish the first piece of armor, his resolution strengthened.

He wanted to see her. And if that meant staying up until the sun rose, so be it.

An hour passed, and he'd moved onto his belt buckle, scouring the delicate grooves of the sculpted face when the sound of footsteps approaching caught his attention. Sure enough, the door gently creaked open, then casually shut behind her as Hawke saw that he was awake. "You're still up," she noted, hanging her cloak by the door and standing near him by the fire. He could feel the waves of cold as she shook the chill from her skin, warming her palms with the flames before moving to unbuckle her armor. "How was the hunt this morning?"

The prince bit his tongue as the urge to ask where she'd been angrily charged toward his mouth. Instead, he put aside his armor and motioned for her to come closer, helping her with her hip guards and boots from his cross-legged position on the floor. "It went well," he answered. "I've now the support of all three men, and Lesley's wife's gardens should have no further infestations for near a season."

She sat in front of him on the rug, leaning back on her palms as he tugged one of her boots free and laid it aside. He'd started on the laces of the second when he felt her gaze and looked up to see her beaming warmly at him as he worked. He couldn't fight the smile that surfaced in response, and after freeing the second foot, he held it in his hand and squeezed it a little.

"What are you smiling about, Hawke?"

She just shook her head, coming up off her hands and leaning toward him between her thighs. "Come here."

He had only to close the distance between them a little when her hands found their way to his neck, guiding him in for a warm, gentle meeting of the mouths. This one felt more natural, more affectionate then their others, and Sebastian ran his thumb in lazy circles over the heel he still held captive as he enjoyed the warmth of her lips.

It was some time before Hawke pulled back, biting her bottom lip and still smiling. "I just had the sudden urge to do that," she chuckled, "and it occurred to me that I actually could."

His chest felt like it might burst, as his heart didn't seem to know what to do with itself at the sudden change other than liquefy into a contented puddle. He was about to reach for her to pull her back in when a quick swipe of his tongue across his lips brought the aftertaste of wine to his mouth. In just an instant, his anxiety had returned and his body had tightened.

This wasn't cheap tavern wine. She'd been drinking with someone.

Clearing his throat, he released her foot. "We missed you at dinner."

She spun on her backside then, positioning her soles toward the fire to warm them up. "I dined with Zevran. You remember, the Antivan elf from the banquet."

And there went the last vestiges of comfort. Yes, he thought bitterly. I remember him.

"It was nice to see him again," she continued. "We ended up talking."

He tried to keep the ice from his voice. "Until so late?"

She smiled, laying back and stretching. "We each had a lot of stories to share. I told you that he knew Cadhla, right?"

"Aye, your friend from Ferelden."

Nodding, Hawke turned to him. "Zevran was one of the ones who helped her end the Blight those years ago. The things he's seen and done at her side are unimaginable."

"The blight?" He narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment, and as the pieces snapped into place, his stomach lurched and he felt as though the world had fallen out from beneath him.

"Your Cadhla," he managed, "Was the Grey Warden who ended the fifth blight?"

Hawke waved one arm above her grandly. "One and the same, though I knew her as Cousland when we were in Highever. It's Theirin now, but I still address letters to her maiden name and they seem to get through just fine." Laughing, she covered her eyes with her hands. "Oh, does he have some stories about her!"

Sebastian suddenly found himself a bit dizzy. "You grew up with the Queen of Ferelden."

She snickered. "Zevran was very entertained to hear that we used to practice kissing over the summers I stayed in Highever. Can't wait to bring it up when I write her next."

"You still exchange letters, then?"

"Constantly. She says Alistair should be in Kirkwall soon."

The prince stared, unsure of what to do with the information that his future wife was intimate friends with the Ferelden royal family. Yet another connection that Hawke had, one more rope in the suspension bridge that was proving to be his path to the throne.

His faith led him to believe in miracles. It also taught him to accept certain confluences of events as merely circumstance, while others were the divine hand at work.

There was no way in Thedas or in any other realm that Hawke was the former, Sebastian decided as he stared at her. It simply couldn't be possible.

Hawke made a face at him, sitting up and snickering. "What? You look so serious all of a sudden."

Moving closer, he sat with his back to the fire to face her, smiling from the part of him that only felt whole when he lifted his thoughts in prayer.

"I wonder," he started, pulling her hair out of her face, "if the Maker hasn't sent you to me."

Hawke raised an eyebrow, but turned to nip at his palm all the same. "If the Maker sent me to Kirkwall, he and I need to have words. Also, he can turn himself into a dragon."

Chuckling, he reached behind him to pinch one of her toes, eliciting a laughing yelp from the Champion.

"Ridicule me all you like," he said, leaning against her, "but I cannot help but think that this is a signal that I was meant to walk this path and you were meant to walk it with me."

Her expression faltered, then, and she studied his face intently with something in her eyes that he couldn't quite catch. Her shoulders soon gradually eased back from tension, and an unsteady grin made its way onto her face.

"Well, then," she said, laughing nervously, "I should thank the Maker that he at least made my partner in all this nice to look at."

She turned toward him, and Sebastian got the distinct feeling that she was about to kiss him again when the delicate clinking of glass against the stone floor caught their attention. A small vial rolled around on the floor beside her, and the prince reached over to pick it up.

"Yours?" he asked, holding it up to the firelight.

"I don't recognize it," she said, squinting. "Though it probably did come from my pocket. Zevran has a habit of sneaking things into my clothes for me to find later." She watched as he uncorked it, frowning a little. "I'd be careful if I were you – I wouldn't exactly trust his 'gifts.'"

Sebastian continued anyway, as there was something very familiar about the size and shape of the bottle. One whiff told him everything he needed, and a knowing smile crossed his face.

He never thought he'd actually be thankful for the Antivan's blatant insinuations.

"Oil?" Hawke asked, seeing the golden-yellow fluid slide around thickly in its confines and leave a sheen in its path. "What for, coating blades?"

Still smirking, the archer shook his head. "I saw these often in Antiva." Pressing one finger over the mouth of the vial, he quickly tilted it back and forth, leaving a slick circle on his fingertip. The other hand sought hers and turned it palm-up in front of him, his blue eyes glittering wickedly as he slowly ran the coated fingertip from her middle finger to wrist.

And waited.

Soon, the trademark jolt of tingling heat blossomed in his fingertip, and he saw Hawke shudder as he knew the same pulsed through her hand.

"No, Hawke," he replied to her earlier question. "It is not for blades."

As the electric warmth faded on his skin, he raised her palm to his mouth and ran his tongue slowly over the path that the oil had taken, hot sparks in its wake. He met her eyes as his mouth found the junction of her ring and middle fingers, and he swallowed hard.

The look on her face and the intensity of her gaze very nearly broke him. In retrospect, the oil had been a very, very bad idea, though he hadn't been thinking at all. And he knew that the Champion couldn't be cursing his vows any more than he was at that moment.

Her other hand slid around his waist, and as her fingers curled up the hem of his shirt to seek the skin underneath, he stilled and caught her hand.

"Touch me, Hawke, and I will come undone." His eyes pleaded with her, though his body was screaming the opposite. "Please. I am not a strong enough man to resist you, and I wish to remain honorable in the Maker's sight."

She sighed and leaned back against the foot of the bed, letting her head hit the wooden frame before standing and changing behind the partition.

"I'm going to bed," she declared as she pulled back the covers, "and cooling off. But the second we're married – the very second, you understand –" With a pointed glare, she plunked herself down on the mattress. "You're making up for this, you hear me?"

Oh, Maker. Sebastian was in trouble.

He prayed for a full hour before joining her wearily beneath the sheets.