A/N: I'M BACK. FROM OUTER SPACE.
Actually, more like the black hole that is a trip to the States and then coming back right into the start of a new school term. Teaching full-time sure is a step up, let me tell you. Readjusting to Japan and then going back to work has sucked out all of my energy for the past month.
OH ALSO DID YOU KNOW THAT GETTING A DRIVER'S LICENSE HERE IS LIKE PULLING TEETH
Sigh.
Anyway, hoping to be back on track with the updates soon. For now, it's just good to be writing something.
Enjoy!
The hills of Blythefeld rolled behind the group, covered in thick patches of forestation with no discernible pattern and a winding, unwieldy path between them. Hawke leaned against a massive maple in the leafy, shifting shade on one particular tree-covered hilltop and kept an eye on the tiny farm below.
Her information had been correct, she mused as her eyes fell along a meticulously-tended series of beehives in a fenced yard. Though considering her source, she shouldn't have been surprised.
"I'm Mairead Hawke. I'm here to rescue you."
Goran stared at her in disbelief as she lowered her hand. "The Champion? But... your voice..."
"Special powder and a 'borrowed' uniform," she explained in gravelly tones. "We don't have much time. I saw what happened in the gardens, and I caught what Sebastian said right before he was taken."
He paled, sinking exhaustedly into an overstuffed couch in front of the fireplace. "You don't understand. Loudain has men surrounding her every minute of every day, and the second I disobey – "
"Blythefeld, right? In farm country."
His head snapped up in alarm. "How did you know?"
"He left tracks." Hawke squatted in front of him, blocking the firelight. "And we will go make sure she is safe," she said firmly, "and get her away from him, if you will only tell us who 'she' is."
"But Loudain – "
"He sent a squad. We have a small army." At his hesitation, she squeezed his shoulder. "We need a name, Goran."
He buried his head in his hands for a few long moments.
"Sophie," he finally said quietly. "She keeps bees in the western fields." He looked up at the Champion pleadingly. "My lover, Sophie MacHugh."
And so here she was, half a day's ride from the main bulk of the city with a company of the Bann's men...
…and a certain Antivan elf who didn't know how to keep his nose out of her business.
She smirked as she remembered saddling up Gryphon, only to see Zevran stroll into the barn, casually holding up Sebastian's bow.
"I happened upon this lovely piece as I was getting to... intimately know one of the royal guardsmen. And I could not help but recognize it as belonging to your inamorata, so am I correct in assuming he finds himself in something of a, shall we say, situation?"
When she'd asked if he didn't have ambassador-like things to do, he'd tried to smile innocently.
"As a future member of the royal family, is it not your duty to ensure that ambassadors are entertained? And I am so very, very bored, princesa." He sighed theatrically. "There are only so many times in a day a man can change clothes, fabulous though they may be."
She noted then that he was in his leathers, having opted for them over the frills and silks he'd worn of late. And he showed no intention of leaving.
"I always liked your armor better anyway."
He crossed his arms across his chest. "Ah, I see you favor function over form. How very practical."
"No," she said, smirking as she fastened one saddlebag closed. "Shows more skin."
He gestured to the small expanse of thigh his armor revealed, pulling aside the skirted leather sections invitingly. "My dear, if you want to see more, you have but to ask – "
She pointed to the stablemaster, cutting him off before he could go any further. "Just go see about a horse."
"As you wish, princesa."
And now here they were, ankle-deep in moss and tree bark in the countryside.
Hawke heard the shuffle of leaves as well-trained feet made their way to her side in the undergrowth.
"I count three out in the open," she said as she scratched one shoulder against the rough bark behind it.
"I did as well," Zevran agreed as he crouched down. "Though there may be others within the walls."
"And we can't just go take them out. They might kill her if she's still alive."
He turned up to her, arching one delicate eyebrow. "You think your man Loudain would bluff so?"
"No," she admitted, "especially not when he's so close to his goals. But we can't take the risk until we see proof that she's alive."
He sighed, sitting at the base of the tree across from her. "Ours is a waiting game, then." Stretching languidly, he smirked. "Well, it is no matter. I am sure we can think of an... interesting way to pass the time."
Hawke snorted. "I'm about to be married, you know. Respectable and all that."
"Of course, princesa. But that does not keep you from regaling me with naughty stories, no?"
Shaking her head, she couldn't help but smile. The Antivan's presence made this all more bearable, and she was glad for his company, even if Sebastian might make a face when she told him Zevran's part in the plan later. A thought occurred to her, and she tilted her head as she folded her arms over her chest.
"I don't know about stories," she said, "but if you want something that might be interesting..."
His eyes brightened a bit as he draped his arms over his knees. "By all means."
"Back then, in Kirkwall, you could've convinced me to leave the city behind and run away with you."
He lifted his chin at that, regarding her curiously. "Oh? Do explain."
"Well, I'd just come twice – "
"Three times," he corrected, and she took a mental tally.
"Oh, you're right," she agreed. "Three. Anyway, I was a wreck in those days." She frowned, flicking a stray leaf from her arm. "I felt like I'd lost everything. The person I loved, a good friend, my mother and brother to death, my sister to the Circle. Now I had this title I never wanted and all the responsibilities to match. And then there you were, living the life I was used to. Going from day to day where your feet or fancy took you, none of the obligations... It would have been so easy to slip back in and feel that way again."
"And now?" His honey-gold eyes glittered with interest. "Could you be so easily swayed?"
"Nah," she offered with a lazy half-smile. "I think I'm serious about that moron of a prince and his damned city." She snickered. "Besides, from what I've seen so far, I'm pretty sure that I'll do plenty of fighting as a princess of Starkhaven."
Zevran stood, brushing the dirt and leaf litter from his armor. "Then I shall not tempt you." He tapped a finger to his lips thoughtfully, smirking wickedly. "Your bride-to-be, however..."
Hawke raised her hands in enthusiastic surrender. "Tempt him all you want," she replied, "please. If you can make that happen with me involved, I swear on Andraste's Nipples of Righteousness that I will knight you."
He chuckled at that. "Truly? Ah, perhaps I shall extend my impersonation of a certain ambassador, then."
"I'd be happy to have you." As he opened his mouth to point out the innuendo, she held up a hand to silence him. "You know what I mean."
"Of course, princesa."
They stared down at the house, watching one of Loudain's men check the perimeter.
"Zevran?" Mairead called quietly.
"Mm?"
She smiled at him, warm and from the bottom of her heart. "Thank you for being here. Really."
For the briefest of moments, the assassin seemed almost flustered by her words, but quickly regained his usual composure with a sigh and a placid smile.
"Ah, how nice it is to be appreciated!" Something from the house below caught his eye, and he turned. "And while I would like nothing more than to hear in detail how very marvelous I am, it seems we have other matters to attend to."
Hawke leaned around to follow his line of sight, watching as a skinny waif of a young woman nervously ducked out the back door to tend to her bees.
"Looks like Sophie's still alive after all," she murmured, noting a figure observing his charge from the door.
"And she has houseguests," Zevran added. "How nice."
"We need them out if we're to get her to safety," Hawke said as she turned to glance at her co-conspirator. "Any ideas?"
He smirked.
"I cannot help but wonder if Starkhaven bees are as irritable as their Antivan cousins."
"...and then made off with my great-grandfather's tapestry of a unicorn!"
The guardsmen at Starkhaven's merchant caravan gate shot nervous glances at one another as Helena Lesley fussed loudly, angrily, and very enthusiastically in their general direction. The stately brunette stood with her hands on her hips as she continued her verbal tirade, detailing every item from her estate that an imaginary trader had bought from her with false currency.
Bann MacDougall and Eoin watched from a distance, marveling at her ability to intimidate the city's finest. She'd been at it for nearly half an hour, browbeating the guardsmen with her indignant rage.
"She's creative, I'll give her that," the Bann muttered as she raised her voice an octave when it came to her heirloom candlesticks. "Though I can't help but feel a mite sorry for th' poor sods."
"Agreed," Eoin replied, watching more guards arrive in a desperate attempt to placate her growing fury. "I'm just glad she's on our side." He chuckled. "And I have a newfound appreciation for Lord Lesley."
MacDougall snorted. "And ye thought my wife was difficult."
They winced and cringed in sympathy from their vantage point for some time until the captain himself appeared, pleading with the noble-born hurricane and attempting to find out precisely what she wanted them to do.
Her face immediately transformed into a benevolent smile with all the grace and beauty of a lily unfolding its petals, eliciting a shiver from all present. As she spoke, they rapidly snapped to attention, then responded just as quickly to orders from their leader. Guards were dispatched to every departing wagon, and apparently satisfied for the moment, Helena turned on her heel and strode toward the men who had put her up to the task.
"They'll examine every single one before they're cleared to leave, and my men are allowed to do the same," she explained casually, not a hint of her earlier rampage in her demeanor. "You're free to go in with yours as well."
"Exactly th' thing we need," the Bann acknowledged, bowing slightly. "Our thanks, lady."
She shrugged delicately. "Sebastian helped my husband rid my gardens of rabbits," she said. "Besides, it's good to remind the guardsmen once in a while how to treat a lady."
"Abject terror?" Eoin suggested before he could stop himself.
To his relief, she beamed proudly.
"Precisely."
The tiny, barred windows of the prison afforded Sebastian little by way of a view, but at least it lit the stone and barriers within well enough.
He was in an otherwise empty block, the rough cot and basin the only objects in his particular cell. Each was separated by a wall of bars, the doors set with bolts and locks. And while he was glad for the solitude, the quiet was something he had trouble adjusting to. Perhaps from the years in Kirkwall or even on the journey thus far, he hadn't had a day's silence in a very, very long time.
It was unsettling.
He chose to sit on his cot, back to the wall, legs crossed and hands folded calmly in his lap. Nonthreatening, contemplative, and patient. He hadn't even tried to speak with the sentries, but to his relief, they wore Starkhaven's guard uniform and not Loudain's. It was the only promising thing he could observe; he'd come there with a burlap sack pulled over his head, only removed as he was shoved into his containment. Which, he mused as his gaze traveled across the stretch of stone, could have been anywhere. All he knew was that it was still bright daylight, so he couldn't have been too far from the city proper. Prudent, as Loudain would need to be close to the outer walls in order to smuggle him onto a merchant caravan unseen.
The princeling briefly wondered what Hawke was doing at that particular moment. Likely setting up some sort of barricade or securing alternate routes from the city. She excelled at doing such things while staying beneath notice – a skill that had served her well in a place as filled with corruption and shady elements as the former Tevinter slaveyard.
The sound of a heavy door clacking and creaking open caught his attention, and Sebastian lifted his head from the wall to glimpse the newcomer. Both sentries beside his door snapped to attention, indicating that his visitor was a high-ranking official or nobleman.
Loudain?
He flexed his fingers within his archer's gloves, but maintained his calm as the footsteps drew closer. A third sentry ran forward with an upholstered stool, placing it in front of his cell door. Following close behind was the authority in question, who dismissed all three guards rather awkwardly and took his seat.
"Goran?"
His cousin waited until the trio had disappeared behind a bracketed door before slumping against one of the stool's armrests. "Cousin," he greeted wearily, waving a heavily-bandaged hand.
The two men sat in silence for a while, Goran shifting frequently and often darting his gaze up to Sebastian's to see if the archer was still staring at him.
He always was.
Hanging his head, the crown prince sighed. "I'm so sorry, Sebastian."
"I understand." He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Your hand was forced, I imagine." The particular irony of those words wasn't lost on his companion, who nodded feebly.
"You've no idea what that man's capable of," he breathed. "I didn't want to. I didn't want any of this. Marrying Cora, framing you, ruling, or rather, pretending to..." He lifted his hand to tug the royal circlet from his head, running a hand through his mousy brown curls and idly thumbing the sculpted metal in the other. "I just wanted to be left in peace."
"Yet here we are," Sebastian said dryly, gesturing to his cell. "The man who would be prince behind bars, and the reluctant monarch in a prison of his own."
"Even if I pardoned you," Goran said ruefully, "Loudain would try something else. He always does."
Another quiet passed over them, Sebastian studying his weary cousin carefully from his vantage point across the room. He outright acknowledged his position as a puppet, even accepting it against his will. But why?
"Cousin," he pried softly, "why do you give in to him?"
The shorter man took in a deep, slow breath as he ran his fingers along the coronet of Starkhaven's princes. "You asked me that in the garden, did you not?"
"And I received no answer."
When Goran fell silent, each passing second was a thorn digging into Sebastian's patience, and it wasn't long before he'd had enough. He strode angrily over to the bars of the cell door, stalking along the side closest to the crown prince like a caged animal.
"My entire family was murdered," he barked, eliciting a visible flinch from his cousin, "to put you on the throne! I deserve an answer, as do the souls of my parents and brothers!" He glared at Goran, who was unable to meet his eyes. "If you will not explain yourself," he issued, "I will hold you as accountable for their deaths as the ones who put coin in the assassins' hands."
At that, Goran bolted to his feet. "I had nothing to do with their deaths!"
"And yet you wear my father's crown and dance to the strings of the man who would see the Vael line ended with the death of your own kin! To what ends?"
Exhausted and broken, Goran collapsed back into his seat. "I didn't have a choice. At least with Lady Harimann, I could turn her away for a time."
At the mention of Harimann's name, Sebastian's frustration subsided somewhat. "She was the first to approach you."
Goran nodded. "Years ago. She showed up one day, promising me all sorts of things if I would go along with her plans. I refused right away, moved to another province. But she found me again, and this time, her promises were like that of a crazed woman. Offered me the crown, offered me a bride, offered me things that were... not of this earth. Hounded me, sent messenger after messenger and started putting things in place in the court, appearing in my dreams, trying to pull me in." He shuddered at the memory. "There was something not right in her eyes those days. And when she disappeared, I finally thought I was free." His jaw tightened.
"That's when Loudain appeared."
Sebastian saw the cloud around the puppet prince darken.
"He was calmer than Lady Harimann, but so much worse." He turned tired eyes up to the imprisoned archer, heavy circles beneath them from lack of sleep. "He wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, either. Except that he decided to do something about it." Goran dragged his hands down the length of his face, letting them fall limply into his lap. "I had a lover."
There it was. It was as though a lock in Sebastian's mind had popped open after gentle tugging followed by relentless and enthusiastic prying. This was the reason, the unraveling thread, the very lifeblood of this entire coup.
"He threatened her to ensure your compliance," he said, a statement rather than a question. The fury left his voice as he reclined against the bars. "An act of a coward."
"But it left me with no choice. I couldn't fight him in the court, nor his men in battle." Goran drew a deep, shaky breath as he interlocked his fingers. "I don't even know whether she lives or..."
Sympathy pricked at Sebastian's conscience as his cousin trailed off, unwilling to speak the worst aloud. "Have faith," he reassured him, "and courage. Men such as Loudain do not go unnoticed by the Maker, nor by His virtuous here on the earth."
For a brief moment, a weak smile flickered across Goran's face. "The Champion said the same thing, though she was a fair bit less... eloquent."
The former chantryman's spirits lifted a bit at the mention of Hawke. "She found you, then?"
The crown prince nodded. "Right after you were taken. She impersonated one of Loudain's men and made sure we were alone, then promised to keep Sophie safe from the Bann before disappearing." He ducked his head. "She, ah, knows some creative curses."
Sebastian chuckled, leaning his head back and smiling up at the ceiling. "Aye, one well-honed skill of many."
"Indeed, I hadn't expected her to be so..." He struggled for words. "Human. Though truthfully, I hadn't been expecting her at all."
Because she invited herself along when I intended to come alone, Sebastian mused. And her stubbornness was something he would forever be grateful for, as the path it had led to had taken a turn he never could have anticipated, nor hoped for.
"Though I imagine you were surprised to see me at the banquet to begin with," he said aloud, but at Goran's telling silence, he straightened up to look at his cousin properly.
"You," he realized. "You were the one who sent the invitation. You wanted me here?"
Goran shifted uncomfortably. "I thought that if you came back..."
"You would be relieved of your burden," Sebastian finished for him. "And you did so without Loudain's knowledge?"
"Slipped it in with everything else getting sent out one morning. Though all I knew was 'Kirkwall Chantry,' so all I could do was hope it found you. And it did." He rubbed his thumbs together. "When I heard that you had returned, it was the first time in years I'd thought that perhaps the Maker hadn't abandoned me after all."
Sebastian made his way back to his cot, sitting down gently. "Perhaps it was the Divine hand guiding me here."
"As it guided you to the Champion?"
He smiled despite himself. "I have often wondered that myself."
Weariness seeped into the smile Goran offered in return. "I envy you," he said slowly. "You will marry the woman you love; not many in the royal family have such a luxury."
The archer was mildly tempted to point out that it was one-sided for whatever comfort it might have given his unfortunate cousin, but instead took it for what it was. "I assure you," he said solemnly, "the life she and I share will not be an easy one, should I claim my birthright."
"But you will spend it together," Goran insisted, "and that is what I envy." He leaned back, sighing. "She is quite something else." With a small chuckle, he tilted his head. "How does one even ask for the hand of such a frightening woman?"
Blinking in surprise, Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. After a moment, he scratched his head sheepishly. "I... ah, I didn't. I suppose it simply happened through a series of otherwise trivial events."
Curious, his cousin leaned forward. "So you never proposed, and she never accepted? Maker, man! You were the Menace of Arrow's Rest, the Seducer of Starkhaven – I'd have thought you, of all people, would be able to come up with a proposal to put all other men to shame!"
Chuckling, Sebastian held up a hand to stop him. "Circumstances as they are, I don't think it would be appropriate to do so now."
"If you insist. Though..." He looked out the window at the glimpse of blue sky. "If I do escape the throne, the first thing I will do is ask Sophie to be my wife, if she'll have me after all I've put her through."
Sebastian smiled at that, only slightly surprised to find himself openly wishing his cousin happiness. Love was an oddly powerful thing, one that he in his youth had never thought he would be subject to. Yet here he was, not only admittedly smitten, but engaged to the one who controlled him so.
As he thought on it, he realized that he could pinpoint precise moments where Hawke had begun to draw a line into his heart, like an archer lining up a mark. When she'd killed the Flint Company mercenaries and helped to avenge his family when he could not, she had pulled an arrow from the quiver. Nocking that arrow was handing him his grandfather's bow, and the way her face had lit up when he explained its significance to his family.
She'd pulled the bowstring taut when she came to him for comfort as the Arishok stripped her bare, and the hours of late-night conversation beneath the Chantry stairs had only cemented whatever bond they'd established in their travels together. She'd leveled her aim at him, completely unawares, with the joy she took in his homeland.
And this entire trip had been like a successive volley of those same pointed bolts digging into him relentlessly until he gave in and fell at her feet.
He would consider himself useless as a man, he mused, if he didn't at least make some small, meaningful gesture.
"Perhaps I should follow your good example," he mused aloud, "and remind my future bride of my well-earned reputation."
As Goran laughed, some of the lines seemed to briefly disappear from his face, returning him to the young man from Sebastian's memory.
"And I hope I am there to see it."
"You may well be," Sebastian told him, "as Hawke is one of the people responsible for my recovery at the caravan gates."
Confused, Goran frowned. "The caravan gates?"
"Aye," Sebastian confirmed, folding his hands on his lap. "By now, there are barricades into and out of the city. I've only to bide my time – when the Bann attempts to move me, I will be caught."
There was silence as Goran stood, suddenly pale. "Wait, you don't know?"
"Don't know what?"
"You're not to be moved – you're to be executed."
Sebastian leapt to his feet, blood in his veins like ice. "Executed?"
"For treason and attempted regicide." Goran came up to the bars of his cell, looking panicked. "You're in Hangman's End."
World spinning, the rightful prince pressed a hand to his forehead. Hangman's End was the prison reserved for traitors, spies, and heretics – those whose crimes rarely merited trial. They had gravely miscalculated Loudain's plan.
"Maker," he exhaled. "We thought– This changes everything. I have far less time than I thought."
"And even less than you know," Goran added, face grim.
A cold stone rolled in Sebastian's stomach. That expression didn't bode well. "Goran?"
"Cousin," he said gravely, "you're set to be hanged tomorrow."
The shorter of the two guards in Sophie's house was too busy scratching a particularly insistent spot under his bristly moustache to notice the first bee.
Humming nonchalantly, the honey-making insect went absentmindedly about his business inside the main house, hovering over a collection of wildflowers in a vase atop one table before zigzagging across the room. As he got a bit too close to the taller, lankier guardsman, he was swatted but otherwise unharmed and free to go about his lazy exploration.
"Damned pests," the guard muttered. "I hate bees."
That first worker bee was soon joined by a second. A third. Three turned into a dozen, and that dozen turned into a hundred. Before long, the room was swarming with intrusive but otherwise amiable bumblers.
"What in seven hells is going on here?" The taller guard waved frantically, trying to keep the hundreds upon hundreds of pollen-gatherers out of his face.
Worry creasing her delicate face, Sophie raised her hands as if to stop him, but hesitated. "It's all right," she pleaded. "They're harmless, really!"
"They're bees, woman!"
Soon, the buzzing had grown to a near-deafening level, and the air was thick with a chorus of humming insects with no regard for personal space. They bumped into everything in their path, cabinets and pots and walls, and while a very puzzled Sophie seemed fine in the presence of so many of her winged companions, the men struggled to maintain any semblance of calm. The lanky guardsman by the table cursed and struck wildly, while his mustachioed counterpart sat with tight lips as button-sized workers repeatedly bonked against their faces and hands.
The latter reached his last straw when one bee had the unfortunate circumstance of tumbling into his ear. Screaming, he leapt to his feet and burst out the front door, shortly followed by his comrade, who fell to the ground and rolled desperately in the grass in an effort to rid himself of the intruders.
"Andraste preserve us," he cried. "I'm covered in bees!"
"Oh! So you are."
He paused to stare up at the new voice, managing to catch a glimpse of a woman's smirking face and red woven armor from above him before his world went black.
As MacDougall's men bound Loudain's lackeys, Hawke shook loose the oblivious little soldiers remaining in the cheesecloth that she and the others had been using to catch them. Luckily, their lunch had been wrapped in the useful mesh, and the bees seemed rather accustomed to having humans traipsing about through their flower fields.
"Well," she said, "that's everyone." Five men clad in black and navy sat tied and gagged in the back of a cart, their horses tethered and waiting. "Zevran?"
The elf emerged from the house, shooing out a few bees delicately. "The house is empty. They did not think it would take more than two grown men to subdue her should she resist, I suppose." He lifted his chin, something over Hawke's shoulder catching his eye. "Speaking of whom..."
Hawke turned to follow his line of sight, only to see an apron-clad figure bolting across the open field as far as her tiny feet would carry her. She squinted. "Is that...?"
"It seems our swashbuckling heroism may have been slightly misunderstood," he offered, folding his arms over his chest with a smirk. "You may wish to explain that to our fleeing friend."
Groaning, the Champion took up after her, kicking up puffy clouds of flower petals and pollen in her wake. Sophie might have been running for her life, but Hawke owned a Mabari who liked to take off chasing rats. Nothing gives you speed and stamina like frequently racing your dog to a sewer in order to prevent a half-digested rodent from being vomited up onto your carpet later.
"Sophie?" she called as she ran. "Sophie MacHugh?"
"Don't know that name!" came the breathless reply.
As they emerged from a waist-high carpet of tall grasses, Hawke had closed the distance between them to reach out and grab Sophie's shoulder, spinning her to make eye contact. She was so focused on stopping the woman in front of her that she didn't see the other hand come up until it was too late. A flat palm connected with her face, and Hawke settled her jaw quickly before blinking back the sting and getting a better grasp on her struggling charge.
Well, she thought, at least she's got some fight in her.
"Hold on," she said, grip on both arms tight. "We're here to help – Goran sent us."
"You lie," the skinny beekeeper spat, glaring. "You could be more of Loudain's men here to trick me, or working for some other slimy courtier! Goran would never risk– "
"He said that you might not believe me," Hawke interrupted, keeping her voice even and firm. "He told me to ask you about that night the last spring you two were together, when you saw the falling star. About the tree, and the picnic, and the cow."
Frowning, but no longer struggling, Sophie knotted her brow. "The what?"
"The cow," Hawke repeated slowly. "Remember the cow, Sophie?"
After a moment, recognition dawned brightly on the mousy woman's face, and her hands flew to her mouth. "The cow," she exclaimed, "the one that knocked the lantern over and nearly set us both on fire!" Tears welled up in her eyes, and the Champion released her from the vicegrip. "Maker," she choked out, "he really did send you."
Hawke extended her hand. "Mairead Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall."
Still trembling, Sophie took it. "Sophie MacHugh."
"Nice to meet you." She tugged her back in the direction of the homestead, where the group waited. "Come," she prompted as they picked up speed, "we need to move. When those men don't report in, more will come with reinforcements. Grab a bag if you need to, but we haven't got much time."
They separated as Sophie ran into the house to quickly pack and Hawke gave the orders to ready the horses. True to her word, not more than a few minutes had passed before the beekeeper emerged with a single stuffed case, which was tossed into the cart alongside the captured guards.
Hawke smirked a bit as Sophie made sure the luggage hit a few of them in the face.
"Can you ride," she asked, and at the shake of Sophie's head, Hawke pulled her up onto one of the Loudain horses beside her, handing the reins to one of MacDougall's men. "Get comfortable," she advised as the company started to move, "we're headed back to the city proper."
Sophie shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a balance while adjusting her pooling skirts. "Isn't that unwise?"
As they entered a tree-shaded portion of the road, Hawke enjoyed the cool relief from the bright sun in the open fields. "We'll be going to Bann MacDougall's estate. He's on our side. Your side."
"And this man," Sophie asked timidly, but with hope edging her voice, "he can end all this? Let Goran come home?"
"If all goes according to plan," Hawke answered. "Sebastian Vael has returned to Starkhaven."
The other woman's face lit up. "Then, if the rightful prince has returned..."
"Now we just have to deal with Loudain." She flashed a grin. "And now that we've taken his leverage away, his life's going to get a hell of a lot harder."
As a broad smile beamed out from Sophie's face, Hawke ventured even further. "If you want, you can be there when we break it to Cora that she won't be becoming princess."
"Ooh," Sophie seethed, "I'd love to see her try to stay superior and condescending as that crown slips right out of her fingers!" It may have elicited a laugh from Hawke and several of the others, but a frown immediately crossed her face. "Then... won't she turn to Sebastian?"
"Such would seem the natural course for a woman of her ambitions," Zevran piped up nonchalantly, "but alas, the ever-so-charming prince is already spoken for."
Interested, Sophie turned to him. "Who would be brave enough to face Loudain?"
"Who, indeed?" The Antivan cleared his throat pointedly.
"You?" she blurted in disbelief, twisting to face Hawke. "The Champion of Kirkwall herself is settling in Starkhaven?"
"I kind of like it here," Hawke mused offhandedly. "One silver lining of throwing a coup is that you get all the worst bits of a place over with at once."
Sophie snickered at that, and was sworn to a mock vow of confidentiality as Zevran spent the rest of the trek spinning racy, wildly exaggerated tales of his exploits. Hawke laughed so hard that she thought her sides would split, and the elf's ridiculously over-sexualized stories were a welcome relief from the weight they all bore.
They rode through the night, and every time she caught Zevran's eyes, Hawke gave him a grateful smile. Sebastian would be waiting for them at the Bann's estate by now, and the sooner she saw him safe and well, the sooner she could relax. She wanted to touch him, to feel him solid in front of her again.
For a moment, the smell of doeskin leather and rabbit's fur filled her senses, and warmth blossomed in her fingertips.
Maker, she swore with a sigh. If she actually fell in love with that obnoxious, chant-spouting, face-like-the-morning-sun do-gooder, her friends would never let her hear the end of it.
