A/N: I'M BACK ON THIS STORY. FINALLY.

As you might have noticed, it's been a long while since I updated. Life got in the way, like it does, and I've been doing short drabbles to try and kickstart my writing. It worked! Not only did I finish this chapter, but the final installment – with a bit of an epilogue – is already 75% done, as well as some outlines for more I want to do with this pairing. When it rains, it pours, man~

Thank you to everyone for your patience. I hope you enjoy it.

NSFW; explicit.


They left from MacDougall's city manor just after first light. As the attendants packed the horses and their guard arrived, both the Bann and his daughter had woken early to bid their farewells.

"Take care o' this one," MacDougall joked as he clasped Sebastian's wrist. "Lot o' trouble she can get ye into in a few months."

Shoving Sebastian aside, Hawke stood on her toes to plant a kiss on the Bann's furred cheek. "Shut your trap."

He smiled and leaned down to meet her graciously. "Aye, m'lady."

Aeryn reached out to embrace her next, full armor and all.

"Hurry back," she said. "Otherwise, I'm not liable for what state the boredom'll leave me in."

"A few months," Hawke reassured, "and I'll be back here to make your life more interesting, I promise."

"Hawke."

She turned at the sound of her name, and saw Sebastian on his horse readied and waiting.

"Time to go, love."


The nights were getting warmer with each day they followed, making the journey back to Kirkwall that much more bearable.

Not that it would have been very difficult – the Banns had insisted on sending a small company to see them escorted through the mountain pass safely. It was soldiers only, however, as the men themselves had a lot to see to in the city proper.

Traveling with a company was safer, Hawke would admit, but slower, and the route they'd chosen was decided upon in the same way. It meant near a week of constant company, and though the guardsmen were all of a generally pleasant and competent sort, the Champion would have readily given a finger or two for a few hours alone with the prince. They hadn't really had any time to speak or sort things out since the events at the prison and left immediately, as the sooner they settled their affairs in Kirkwall, the sooner he could return and formally assume the crown.

And as much as she hated to admit it, they needed to talk. Maker only knew what Sebastian would have churning through his head around now, and the longer they traveled, the heavier the unease in her gut grew. Everything had seemed well and fine and reasonable when they were in the city, running at a breakneck pace and barely surviving on adrenaline alone in the thick of things. Now that the dust had settled, however, the particulars of what they had agreed upon were haunting Hawke like ghosts. By the time they had cleared the pass, she felt near to madness on an hourly basis.

So it was with gratitude and no small relief that they dismissed the men as soon as Kirkwall was in sight. The grotesque architecture and imposing walls were never a more welcome sight, and Hawke waited until the men were out of earshot to let out a heavy groan.

"Maker," she breathed, "I thought we'd never be rid of them."

Sebastian chuckled as he dismounted, leading his horse to the nearby stream. "Eager to have me to yourself?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

He rewarded her with a smile and brought his hand up to the side of her neck, guiding her down for a chaste kiss. "And glad I am to hear it."

The warmth of his skin and the comfortable intimacy of that affection snapped something in Hawke's chest, something she'd been denied the last week, something she'd grown accustomed to and begun to crave. There was a hollowness that gnawed at her as he turned his back, and before any recognition of precisely what that was registered in her mind, her feet had decided to dismount and her hands had reached for him.

She was pressed against a tree in an instant, rough bark scratching at her shoulderblades as her arms furiously wound themselves around Sebastian's neck. She pulled him up against her with a hunger that came from nowhere, though he matched the kiss with equal enthusiasm. His broad palms, leather-clad and eager, explored and grasped at every accessible part of her waist and lower back like the man was half-starved.

It was some time before the ache subsided and she was finally able to pull away and give them both breath again. "Sorry," she sighed, "I just suddenly needed that."

"Maker, yes." He chuckled, settling his hands on her waist but making no move to release her. "Better?"

"Much." The leaves overhead filtered down indirect sunlight, the broken beams shifting their patterns with the breeze. It was a vast improvement from the open road, and as Hawke leaned against Sebastian's chest, the surrounding area seemed more and more appealing.

"Looks like as good a place as any to set up camp," she observed, and Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

"Kirkwall is only a half-day's journey from here," he said. "We could arrive just after nightfall."

Gently extricating herself, she moved to pat Gryphon, who pressed his nose into her hand. "I'm not– " she began, but hesitated. After a moment, she shot an almost apologetic look over her shoulder. "I'm not ready to go back yet. Would you mind?"

"Not at all." He offered a smile in return, reaching to unhook his pack from the saddle. "I completely understand."


The sun hung half-seated in the reddening sky, slowly pulling the warmth from the world like a blanket in its retreat and making their campfire that much more inviting.

Making camp had largely been done in silence, save the occasional "Where do you want this," and "Why is there a rock here?" They sat quietly opposite one another, having eaten before they lost the light. Sebastian had his bow in hand, polishing oil and rag on a rock beside him as he carried out maintenance on the aged wood.

Hawke, for her part, watched him in uncharacteristic quiet. There were a hundred conversations that she wanted to have, but for the life of her, she couldn't start a damn one. Luckily, her vacant staring hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Your thoughts?" Sebastian prompted, looking up from his work.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "When we were in Starkhaven, I..." Her hands twitched. "I didn't – I felt a pull to stay, you know? To the point where it was physically difficult to leave when we did."

"But?"

She sighed, cracking her knuckles. "But Kirkwall just sucks me right back in. Every time I turn a corner, I think 'oh, there's the place where a mercenary ambushed me and I put a knife through his chest' or 'there's the spot where the templars were doing their lyrium smuggling once' and my feet won't move. What if..." With a frown, she tried to pinpoint any one of the thousand things that could go wrong. "What if we get mired again? What if I lose my confidence about ruling a city? About us - if I run away from it all and decide that it's easier to just rot away in that pit?"

Sebastian listened to her patiently, wiping his hands as he set bow and tools aside. As he leaned in to stoke the fire, he glanced at her over the flames. "I've already sent the marriage bann, if that bolsters you."

Blinking in surprise, Hawke came up off of her elbows. "What? When?"

"With a messenger, the morning after you rescued me from the barn." He smiled, brushing the dirt from his fingers. "You were preoccupied with riding lessons."

She snorted. "Must've given the Grand Cleric quite the shock."

"I included a letter. Though I think Elthina will have the discretion not to post it publicly."

Hawke lost herself in thought, following his face with her gaze as the fact that their intent to marry existed on paper fully realized itself in her mind. Someone outside of Starkhaven knew, someone important – someone who was completely removed from the whirlwind.

She must have been staring at him for longer than she realized, as evidenced by his amused chuckle. "I seem to have lost you again."

"How can you be so calm and sure about this?" She studied him intently, all seriousness and sincerity. "I have to be the single greatest threat to your faith since– "

"My faith is between me and the Maker," he interrupted. "And you didn't break it, nor me."

"Yet," she smirked.

He raised an eyebrow, and she could swear there was a hint of something quietly burning and very promising in his expression before he continued. "You challenged my faith, yes, and forced me to reexamine it at every turn, but faith untested is weak and easily broken at its first trial. If anything, it has only strengthened since we met." He stood, circling the fire with quiet steps to add another log to fuel it. He stopped beside her, lost in thought as he tended the flames.

"Too much has happened," he said slowly, "that I have no choice but to believe that some of it, at least, was the divine hand at work."

Hawke frowned, running a hand through her hair. "And you really believe that?"

He turned to her, and his smile was back. "With all my heart."

"No worries? Regrets?"

"Many."

That took her by surprise. It seemed more of an assertion than an admission, thus piquing her already-heightened interest. She straightened, rotating to face him on her chosen rock. "I'm listening."

There was a moment then where something in his expression changed. He was quiet as he turned back to the fire, absentmindedly brushing the bark litter from his gloves.

"You are unlike any woman I've ever known," he began. "And I often wish..."

He trailed off, and Hawke tilted her head. She had shared; so would he.

"Wish what?"

He turned back to her, firelight cast across his face. "Have you ever wondered what it would have been like had we met in a different world, under different circumstances?" Shifting his weight, he regarded her thoughtfully. "Just think of it, Hawke. Your mother was from a very respected noble family in Kirkwall, and mine rulers. With that, we would have met eventually, you and I. But face to face, young and full of promise and free."

That last word hung in the air, and Hawke could almost see it stinging at Sebastian's skin, begging to be let in and take root. Yet for all that she too was tempted, she let it go.

"Do you think you would have loved me then?"

"I don't know if I could have," he replied, frowning. "I was selfish and arrogant, as you've no doubt heard repeatedly over our journey. I was nigh-incapable of thinking beyond my own desires, much less love."

She smirked as she leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. "There you have it. Problem solved."

He chuckled, walking the few steps to be within reach. "I suppose it is a fair point."

"Just fair?" She leaned back to gaze up at him. "We are our experiences. We would have been very different people if we'd had easy, uneventful lives."

As the words left her mouth, images rose to flood the forefront of her mind in waves. Her parents. Lothering. Protecting Bethany, Carver – watching the latter crushed to death in the fist of an ogre as they fled their home in a desperate attempt to live. Scraping by in Kirkwall, just barely surviving and trying not to let everything they had left fall to pieces. Being locked away deep underground by a madman, left to die among the rocks and wraiths.

Bethany being taken away by templars as their mother's sobs filled the squat hovel. Moving into the estate, gathering a family, a new family, and holding them tight as the city came unraveled thread by thread.

The Arishok.

Her throat tightened as she could see and feel him, as strong as the very last time. He was on the ship. He was on the ship, on the bow, and she was not. It was how things had to be, the burdens they both had to bear, and they were always well aware that their time together had been the top half of a draining hourglass.

Hawke thought of him, and she thought of the Qun.

"I am who I am," she said firmly. "You are who you are, and thinking about what might have been just keeps us from moving forward." Looking him square in the eye, she lifted her chin. "Do you want things to change?"

"No," he said, crouching in front of her and taking her hands in his. "Never."

"Then that's the end of it."

The resulting smile she earned sent a warm wave down her spine, and his eyes sought hers as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

"It seems the tides have turned," he murmured, "as you ease my doubts."

She snickered, leaning in to roll her forehead affectionately against his. "That's what I'm here for."

"Always, mo ghraidh."

They stayed like that for a time, his gloved palm on her jaw and his thumb running lazy circles on her cheek. It was an intimacy she had long since learned to enjoy, the touch of his skin pressing through leather – and a wicked thought struck her.

"Sebastian," she said, brushing her lips across his. "How would you feel about not getting much sleep tonight?"

He pulled back a bit, one eyebrow arched warily. "Hawke."

"Not like that." Grinning, she bit her lip.

"I have a terrible, amazing idea."


The bright light of early dawn streamed in through the massive Chantry windows, bathing Andraste in sun from behind as the Grand Cleric prepared for her morning devotions.

Elthina smoothed her robes, lighting a row of candles in silence. The troubles of the city haunted her every waking moment, and the faces of the faithful, frightened and pleading for guidance, never left her sight. This was her time for solace; the sisters wouldn't rise for another hour still, and it was her one chance at peace before whatever storms the day might bring.

Yet today, it seemed that the storms had other plans.

She had only just opened the well-worn copy of the Chant on the central pulpit when the Chantry doors groaned open and in walked two of the biggest sources of consternation in her life. She supposed she should have been surprised – or at least mildly suspicious – but nothing was ever simple with those two. With a quiet word to the Maker, she straightened and made her way to meet them.

At the base of the steps, she greeted Sebastian, noting several things: first - the way his hand immediately left his side to seek out Hawke's, second - that they were both coated in dust from the road and had likely ridden through the night, and third – that their expressions both held a tentative hope that was currently focused very much on her.

Sebastian asked after the letter he'd sent – yes, she'd received it. Is that what brought him to return at this ungodly hour?

One look at their faces and the intersection of their hands, and she had all the answers she needed.

Elthina looked to Hawke, and for a moment, she was replaced with the image of her mother asking the same damn favor thirty years ago. Some things, she mused, wondering at the Maker's sense of humor.

She sighed inwardly, but smiled despite herself and beckoned them to follow. They'd best hurry up if they wanted to avoid a spectacle.

Both were in their armor, and she lent them use of a basin to scrub off enough grime to be considered at least presentable. A few of the younger acolytes in the Chantry's care had woken early, and were happily conscripted into helping with preparations. A few steered Sebastian to the stone benches for cleansing prayer, while the others flocked to Hawke and insisted upon being helpful. She asked them to check her for blood spatter, which they did – but she also inadvertently ended up with several large flowers tucked into her hair, as per their idea of what a bride should look like.

Before leading her outside, the Grand Cleric handed Hawke a roll of parchment to add to her satchel. She could read it later – first, she needed at least the barest of blessings before the ceremony. Elthina anointed her, murmuring the first of the marriage benedictions as Hawke bowed her head and folded her hands.

She asked the Maker and His bride to watch over her - to watch over them both. Though she doubted they would ever need guidance when it came to their affections, as evidenced by Sebastian's broad, bright smile and subsequent stifled laugh at the sight of his fiancee's hair. Hawke threatened to rip the blooms out, but still held a smile as she took his hands and walked with him into the orchard.

And thus Elthina quietly married them in the Chantry gardens, as the sun lit the world and white flowers opened on the trees above.


"Welcome home."

Hawke smiled as she shut the door to her estate behind them. "It's yours now too, after all. Half of it, anyway."

Sebastian chuckled as he deposited his bag on the floor near the sofa. He didn't have much in the way of worldly possessions, and clearing his quarters at the Chantry had been a quick affair. He would have to visit later that day to discuss things further with the Grand Cleric; perhaps he would return to the room one last time, committing the familiar walls and lone window to memory.

Surveying his surroundings, as though for the first time, the would-be prince heard no footsteps, no echoing chatter. The massive house, though the fires were waiting ready to be lit, seemed empty of life.

"It's quiet."

"It's the start of the week," Hawke informed him as she unhooked her satchel. "Bodahn always sets out at first light with Sandal and Orana for the markets. It's their weekly outing – they won't be back until noon at the earliest."

Meaning, Sebastian realized as his heart thumped almost painfully, that they were alone in the house. His fingertips began to tingle, and a tension set in his shoulders. As of this moment, there was nothing holding either of them back. She had sworn himself to him in front of the Maker, and he to her; his vows had been rescinded.

The instant that ring had set on his finger, he had become a man free to give everything he had to the woman he loved.

"Hawke."

"Mm?"

He turned, waiting as she closed the few steps between them. "Your left hand, please."

She lifted it obligingly, and the silver band glinted in the dull light creeping in from behind the drapes. He caught that hand in both of his, bringing it to his mouth to plant an open-mouthed kiss across the back of her knuckles, the tang of skin-warm metal on his tongue.

"Not an hour ago," he reminded her quietly, "the vows I made to the Chantry were dissolved."

And Maker, was every inch of him not currently touching her aware of that fact.

He heard her breath hitch in her throat, and he waited. Not for long, however – before he could even form a full thought, her mouth was on his and her arms were pulling him to her with a strength he wouldn't, couldn't fight. He met her hunger with equal force, hands grasping at her hips and feet moving of their own accord towards the stairs.

Soon, he had Hawke's back slammed against the wall beneath the family portrait, frame rattling overhead for a moment as she gasped. Sebastian's mouth found her throat, both of their hands traveling in frantic exploration of anything, everything. He bit down lightly beneath the tender skin at the junction of her shoulder, yanking her leathers aside with one hand as the other deftly undid the main buckle of her utility belt. It slid to the floor, and his soon joined it as Hawke roughly began working him through his leggings.

He groaned, burying his face in her shoulder as he ground his hips against her, pressing one knee into the wall between her legs and providing something for her to brace against. He felt the heat of her on his thigh, and she grabbed fistfuls of his hair to pull him up to within reach of her mouth. Even as her tongue met his, Sebastian could hear the muffled whimpers in her throat, feel the need in her fingers as they took heir frustration out on his scalp. He pressed against her harder, plunging his hands into the back of her leggings to better grip her bare backside.

With his newfound leverage, it was only a short adjustment before he could drag her hips forward, pressing her crotch into the muscles of his thigh. She moaned into him, low and tense as she assisted with the rise and fall of her hips. A tangle of limbs, they ground against each other, desperately seeking friction through the impediments of armor.

Hawke's hand found purchase on a mostly-bare end table beside them, and she moved to sit on it, legs hooking around Sebastian's hips and pulling him with her. She was nearly at eye level now, and her fingernails dug into his nape as her thighs squeezed his waist with a strength that sent shivers down his spine. His cock was pressed firmly against the crotch of her leggings, and as he rolled his hips, he shuddered out half-breaths.

There was no stopgap now, nothing but a few layers of leather and cloth separating him from putting an end to all of the frustration and longing that had plagued them both.

Hawke had apparently had the same idea, and one of her hands slid between them to delve under his leggings and wrap a few fingers around the base of his shaft. Sebastian let out a strangled moan and thrust forward helplessly, shaking the legs of the end table and knocking a few letters to the ground. Even her touch was enough to undo him; it was a wonder he had resisted her this long at all.

Her grip shifted, and his knees threatened to buckle. He already wasn't going to last long. If she kept this up -

The hand stroking his cock abandoned it for his waistband, and as she began to tug the hem down, Sebastian tore his mouth away.

"Hawke," he managed, "the bed– "

She claimed his mouth again, silencing his protests. "If you don't fuck me here and now," she issued, breath hot against his face, "I will do grievous bodily harm to you, understood?"

He sucked in a sharp breath, but his hands were already gripping the inch of exposed skin above her hips tight enough to bruise.

"The minute we were married, I said," she muttered against his ear, lips brushing him with every word. "I warned you."

She stroked the length of him, and he was done for.

He had wanted to be gentle, methodical and slow, savoring their first moments together. They had all the time in the world for that later, he reminded himself as the last remaining barriers between them were hurriedly yanked aside.

One arm braced itself against the wall, the other tightly wrapped around the small of her back, the upper swell of her hips. Her fingers caught hold of his collar, and with a quickly whispered prayer, he seated himself inside her in one long stroke.

Blessed are the -

Everything else in the world ceased to exist.

Hawke was tight and wet and warm, like her fresh-licked lips as they wrapped around a whimper. She engulfed him, surrounded him with the feel of everything that she was, and all of the air left his lungs as he breathed her name.

Oh, how he loved her.

Warmth started to grow into a burn, and he pulled back just enough to slide back in. At that first thrust, she curled around him, and the shuddering sigh that left her bones was a profound expression of how much they had both wanted this.

Sebastian inhaled deeply, forehead pressed to hers as he began to set the slowest rhythm he could manage. Every withdrawal was torturous, every return to her a blessed release. This close, he was rewarded with feeling the warmth of her clipped breath on his face and hearing each noise as she made them; the grip she had on his shoulders was electrifying.

His self-control was short-lived. Slow thrusts became faster, and Hawke's hips angled to meet him as she gasped.

"Ah," she choked out, "fuck."

He groaned, head falling to her shoulder with no mind to the cold metal of her armor fastenings. The emotional rush was overwhelming, though this hurried coupling against the nearest available surface was hardly the most romantic setting he'd ever been in. He'd had satin sheets, lavish dinners, moonlit beaches, and hazy rooms full of dancing girls and perfume. But here, in the dim light and smoky smell of the hearth, he was experiencing something he had never thought to seek. This was his love, newly sworn to him and coming undone in his arms.

The amount of pleasure he took in the particular way she whimpered was staggering.

Sebastian was at full-tilt now, and the table that was clearly not designed for this purpose rocked with loud, rhythmic thunks into the wall with each thrust. The sensation of her was incredible, filling his senses and drowning out all else. Everything in the world was Hawke and the feel of his cock as years of pent-up desires violently sought release.

He could feel her muscles tense, the trembling of her legs against him, and he knew she was close. He wouldn't be far behind – the frantic grasping of her hands as they tried to make their way to his face only served to push him further.

A low whine set in her throat, and her fingernails dug into the back of his neck. "Sebastian," she managed, "I'm -"

She tightened around him, and he was lost. His body took full control, and he cursed her body as he relished in it.

"I surrender," he breathed, hips grinding against hers in frenzy. "Everything - everything I– "

She came with a guttural moan, riding through the waves of her orgasm as it tugged his own from him. He peaked just moments after she did, and spilled himself into her amid sharp, hard thrusts that pulled nearly every ounce of strength from his body and wrenched a rough cry from his throat. The moment was indescribable, pleasure and emotion running free of so many years under painful restraint.

Their breathing was haggard, strained as the waves subsided. Neither made to move, the rise and fall of their chests briefly in time as their fingers stroked small, affectionate circles wherever they lay. Sebastian pressed a kiss to her brow, heart slowly winding its way back to normal. He could hardly blame it for such a pace – that morning was quickly proving itself to be the single most significant of his life.

His faculties were gradually returning to him when he felt Hawke laugh and her head fell back against the wall.

"We didn't even make it past the kitchen," she snickered, "never mind the bed."

Sebastian sighed, albeit through a smile. "Yes, love. The Prince and Princess of Starkhaven consummated their marriage on a stairwell."

"And it was fucking great."

He laughed at that, murmuring an agreement as he laid a kiss across her mouth.


The bath was well worth every ounce of the effort it took to draw it.

Much-needed scrubbing aside, watching Hawke peel off her armor piece by piece had been a pleasure. It had been everything Sebastian could do not to touch every inch of her bare skin, though he might have indulged a few times as they both sank into the lone-sized tub. She had made no protest, laughing and stretching to grant him better access to her hips and breasts as she rinsed the road grime from her body.

He had welcomed the same from her, the scented oils softening and perfuming their skin. It was as though some invisible barrier between them had been dropped, and every affectionate and exploratory touch, every kiss sent warmth straight to his heart. He marveled at how much easier everything seemed now, how even the simplest of things took less effort and felt lighter when beside his wife.

The thought made him smile for the hundredth time as he dried himself and pulled on a pair of loose-fitting pants. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so full of hope, so at peace.

He turned to her, intending on vocalizing his thoughts, but stopped himself as he saw her reading a leaf of parchment from her position leaning against the wall in her robe. "From Bodahn?"

"This?" Hawke waved the paper a bit as she read it. "Elthina gave it to me."

Surprised, Sebastian draped his towel over the rack beside the fire. "The Grand Cleric wrote you a letter?"

"No," she said, smiling to herself and glancing at him over the top of the page. "You did."

Confusion took hold of him for a solid moment until he realized her meaning with a sinking feeling in his stomach. "That's the letter I sent... "

" ...with the marriage bann, yes."

"To Elthina! She would never– "

"She's Grand Cleric," Hawke reminded him with a smirk, still reading. "She can do whatever she wants. And apparently she thought I would find it interesting."

Mortified, Sebastian sat on the edge of the bed. "I imagine so." He attempted to keep his hands folded, only to drag them down his face with a groan as Hawke covered her mouth to hide a laugh at a particular section. "Maker, Hawke. End my suffering, if you have any mercy."

"No, this is good," Hawke said, tapping the paper with her index finger. "You asked Elthina if it would be all right to name a daughter after her - I like a man who thinks ahead. Though I would've liked to name our first girl 'Varric,' personally." Her eyes traveled to the next paragraph, gleaming with mirth in the low light. "And my heart? That 'burns like fire with conviction'? Though you would be the one to know; you did once shoot me in it."

"Hawke…"

"An accident, I know."

"You were never meant to read that."

"And we can burn it, if you like," she said with a chuckle as she scanned the letter again in its entirety. "Just as soon as I memorize it, because this is gold."

Sebastian leapt up from the bed, snatching it from her hands and holding it out of reach. Laughing, Hawke chased after him as he stalked away, grabbing for it wildly.

"Give that here!"

"Absolutely not," he replied firmly, stuffing it into one of the nightstand drawers and out of sight. When he turned back to her, she was still close, but made no motion to reach for it.

"Ever?" She smiled up at him, one hand sliding around his waist.

"Perhaps I'll save it for an anniversary."

She snickered as she leaned against him, and her free hand sought out his to intertwine their fingers. Sebastian relished the contact; each time she sought him out was like a beam of light reminding him how right this choice was, this path. Though they were far from finished in their work – he had yet to formally assume the throne, and while he had shed his armor, she had not shed hers.

Yet in this moment, anything seemed possible.

"Hey, Sebastian."

"Yes, mo ghraidh?"

He could hear the grin in her voice. "I got married in my armor."

He smirked, bringing his arms to lazily loop about her waist. "Relish your victory now, wife, because you will wear a gown at the official ceremony. And I'll further promise that it will be absolutely enormous."

She pinched him in response, and he chuckled as he briefly angled away from it. Just as soon as he was gone, he was back again, holding her against his chest and enjoying the warmth of her breath on his skin.

Sebastian pressed a kiss to her hair and released her, motioning toward the bed as he pulled back the sheets. "We should at least attempt a few hours' sleep," he advised, and Hawke sighed.

"Right. Rest up now, because we'll have some explaining to do."

"Aye, I expect so."

"And because I still fully intend on getting my wedding night."

He stiffened at that, mid-reach for the pillows. As the blood rushed southward, he managed a strained laugh, adjusting the second pillow against the headboard in the way he had learned his bride preferred. Sleep. They needed sleep. "And you shall have it," he promised. "Perhaps well into tomorrow morning."

Her hand slid around his waist from behind, breasts pressed against his back as her nimble fingers brushed the beginnings of his arousal. With a groan, he reached out to brace himself against the nearest bedpost and fought the urge to roll his hips.

"And if I don't want to wait for tonight?" she murmured, and his battle with reason was lost.

He reached behind him, and was about to take hold of her...

...when the sounds of four feet scrabbling on the stairs outside caught their attention, followed promptly by the door being kicked open and an enormous mabari bounding in.

"Hello, Ogre," Hawke greeted with a sigh as he set to wriggling between the two humans as attention-starved dogs were wont to do. He barked happily, eagerly pressing his muzzle into Sebastian's waiting palm and jumping about, only to return just as quickly.

"He's usually out with the rest of the house on shopping trips," Hawke said as she patted his rump. "But I did leave the door unlocked."

"Mabari are remarkably intelligent," Sebastian agreed. "He knew you'd returned."

"If he were really so smart," Hawke grumbled, "he would have let us alone for a few more hours."

Voices echoed through the open door, and Sebastian quickly donned a shirt to make himself decent for the household staff. Just in time, too, as a bearded dwarf appeared at the doorway, red-faced and out of breath.

"You're home, Messere!" He gestured to Ogre, who rolled on his back at Hawke's feet. "Thought such might be the case when the pup suddenly took off on the return. And glad we all are to see you! There's been letters on your desk, Messere, and the Knight-Commander's sent messengers every other day– "

As Bodahn began listing everything that had been piling up in her absence, Hawke sighed. "No rest for the wicked."

Sebastian nipped at her shoulder. "Seems you'll have to wait love, to see how wicked I can be." He made his way to the chair holding his armor to begin properly dressing, and Hawke grinned.

"Bodahn, I believe you know my husband."


Hawke couldn't keep a smirk from her face as she left Sebastian at the Chantry, gaze pinned appreciatively to his backside as he scaled the steps. Had she been more devout, she would have sworn that that body was a gift from the Maker to reward her for her years of hard work and suffering. Even though all they'd managed so far was a quick, frenzied tryst – but Andraste's tits had that felt glorious – the floodgates were burst open now. Her prince hadn't disappointed, and if his reputation was anything to go by, she had a lot to look forward to.

A lot.

When he'd disappeared into the massive doorway, Hawke turned on her heel and headed for the market. He had some things he needed to take care of alone, as did she. Hers seemed menial in comparison – changing the family's nobility register and commissioning finery versus exiting from one's religious orders – but their trivial nature was a relief. Bann MacDougall had given her a laundry list of preparations to make in the interim, and three of the items on it involved visiting a skilled tailor.

It was an expensive visit – fashion always was – but as she stood on the measuring block and was fussed over by the atelier's chief designer and what was quite possibly every member of the staff, Hawke finally had a moment to really breathe for the first time that day. She looked in the mirror, watching a series of fabrics be held up against her skin and instantly rejected in flowery Orlesian, and fought down a laugh.

Nervous energy, perhaps even excitement nipped at her heels, and the idea that something was starting was both terrifying and invigorating. There was also a kind of lightness, a lifted burden from having actually gone through with it. There was no uncertainty there now, no fear of falling victim to indecision and doubt. For better or for worse, they were in this together.

She had a new challenge. She would be fighting for something again – and this time, it wasn't just to survive. She had goals to work toward, real good to do, and - perhaps most importantly - a partner for all of it.

A partner, she mused as she was draped in a swath of sky-blue, who was slowly becoming easier to allow in to every intimate aspect of her well-guarded life.

"Not the blue," the head designer sighed. "The shade is too passé. Something with a bit more green, non?"

Her assistant ran forward with a length of seafoam, handing it over proudly. "This is a lovely color, messere. Master Tethras mentioned in passing not two days ago that it reminded him of your favorite flowers."

Suddenly, a stone sank into Hawke's gut. The reaction caught her off-guard, and she frowned. Hearing the dwarf's name would usually have only encouraged her excitement, not pulled it to a screeching halt. The change was unmistakable, and it only took a few moments of wary introspection to understand why.

"Said I should point it out to you, he did," the girl continued with a laugh, "and said he wouldn't even charge me a consulting fee. Imagine that! Free business advice from Ser Tethras himself!"

Hawke mindlessly obeyed one of the seamstresses and held the sample to her chest, realizing in horror that in her self-congratulations, she'd forgotten one very important element - or rather, several of them.

And all of whom would insist on drinks that night to welcome them back.

Ah, she grimaced, shit.