This fic has more than doubled in size since I first posted it, and is still under edit as I learn and grow as a writer.
A year or so ago, I watched two friends of mine, a couple, battle cancer. It taught me that even the best people don't live forever. Their fight inspired me to write this. I noticed that it was strange how Malcolm Hawke just died of some undescribed disease, so I put that in here as well.
Update 10/13/2015: I decided to add in a marriage proposal. It just fit.
(And yes, I know that birthdays are now canon in Thedas, but I still call them namedays because it's what I've always done.)
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age. Some dialogue is taken from the Dragon Age games, and the song clip is from Set Me As A Seal in the style of Matt Maher.
Warnings: Angst, character death and sexual themes.
"I never thought love was worth fighting for, but when I look into your eyes, I'm ready for war."
She became ill in winter.
She had no idea what it was, but she had a feeling she'd seen it before. Not in herself, but in her father. It wasn't something that she could simply take a powder for or drink a soup and be rid of. It was different; something had changed within her. She could feel it.
It started with the headaches. Thudding, painful migraines that interfered with everything, especially spellcasting and reading, which was most of what she did nowadays. It stole what little grace she had and sapped her of energy, leaving her clumsy and weary. She had brief spells of weakness and disorientation, and she would often forget simple things like where she was or what she was doing.
She tried. She thought she could handle it, fight it on her own, that it would go away if she ignored it like every other disease.
She was stubborn; even as she grew weak and dizzy she told no one anything was wrong. Not long before, her friends had all left her side for one reason or another, and those who remained kept little contact with her. Few even stopped by to ask how she was.
After all, she was Hawke. Why should they worry about her?
Anders was dead. By Hawke's hand, no less. He'd been a skilled healer (her own skills with healing could never compare) and one of her dearest friends; losing him now was losing a part of herself, one that she could never get back. Even if she had the option she wouldn't bring him back; she knew he couldn't fight Justice, and he had committed a heinous crime. But there were still times when she shut herself into her room, blew out the lights, and cried for the friend she could not save.
Aveline had settled down with Donnic in Kirkwall, prepared to keep the peace there as captain of the guard. Hakwe was glad to see the woman happy; she deserved any peace she created.
Isabela was attempting to retake her old life as a pirate captain, having had her fill of Hawke's wild and selfless ways. The two had hugged each other tightly, swearing if they were needed they would be there before parting ways forever.
Merrill had chosen to help the escaping apostates with their new lives, help them reach safety. After sharing a tearful goodbye, she and Hawke had promised to try to keep in touch.
Varric was a storyteller now, and he was good at what he did. He had to spread his tale, her tale, to remind people the value of respect; Hawke understood when he stopped coming by every week. She would never forget her best friend; she knew he'd never forget her.
Fenris had decided to take Sebastian up on his offer of training the Starkhaven soldiers. His goodbye was one she would have missed had she not been looking for it. He told her once more that he was glad he travelled with her, and then he was gone, and he didn't come back.
And Sebastian, true to his word, had returned to Starkhaven, and she'd gone with him. Once they reached the city however, Sebastian had all but disappeared. Likely to return to his life of contemplation.
This shouldn't have hurt as much as it did.
Bodahn, Sandal, and Max were the only ones she spent a significant amount of time with. Bodahn was easily kept in the dark about her condition; she had learned how to avoid him when she'd lost her mother. Sandal was a sweet boy, but there was little chance he understood; there was nothing he could do. Even if he knew something was wrong, he couldn't have told his father. And Max was a dog; either unable or unwilling to speak. He would whine and nudge her, but he could not keep her off her feet.
She fell on the ninth of Wintermarch. She'd been in her room, attempting to change from her normal clothes into her armor, and she'd fallen straight into unconsciousness. She fell, and struck her head on her dresser. Bodahn had found her when Max went berserk.
She woke to find the worried dwarf patting her forehead with a moist towel, trying to revive her. He was frantic, wanting to call for a healer. She lied then, telling Bodahn that she'd hit her head when she was struggling with her boots, and though he didn't like it, he left the matter alone.
On the sixteenth, she couldn't drag herself out of bed.
When she didn't come out of her room for two days, Bodahn sent a message out for the healers and to the one man he knew would deliver. The one man who would be trustworthy and patient.
And Sebastian Vael stepped in.
He came back into her life like the light of the Maker, warming, healing, cleansing, and without reason. Well, without clear reason to her, at least.
And in the spring, he moved in with her as her caretaker.
Summer came like a smothering blanket, turning the air humid and hot, and Hawke grew weaker. She could no longer go out by herself in case she had a fit. She started to require help in order to do the simpler things. She was vulnerable, and she hated it.
Sometimes she wondered if this was how father felt when he was dying.
The healers told her it was likely what her father had died from; they told her she would need a caretaker for the rest of her life.
She told them to fuck themselves.
Sebastian was her crutch. He was always with her. When she got frustrated and cursed every known deity, he would soothe her, and when she calmed down enough, he helped her with whatever she needed done. When she was restless, he told her stories of his youth, of the shenanigans he got into as a child, making her laugh and smile.
This, she appreciated more than she could tell him.
Oh, in the beginning she'd fought him. Not fought to get rid of him, but fought to stay independent. She had missed him; far more than she would care to admit, but she had a bloody reputation to uphold, dammit!
But the healers, shitty as they may be, were right. She needed help.
She would only eat if he were the one to force her to, she would only sleep if he was present, and she would only tell how she was feeling if he asked. She was as stubborn as ever. She still tried to run and fight, even though Sebastian was disapproving.
He always followed her anyway, his bow at the ready to defend her.
He took such good care of her, she realized. She hadn't asked him to do this for her; it must have been Bodahn. And since when did he owe Bodahn anything? Then again, it wasn't Bodahn who needed looking after.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked one day as he tucked freshly cleaned sheets around her.
He paused, turned away from her. It was something he'd asked himself before, but that didn't mean he had an answer for her; especially when he didn't have one for himself. "Because you need someone to look after you now," he told her.
She snorted, irritated; he ignored it.
"I mean why do you want to help me? Why not just hire a maid or something?"
"Do you want me to leave?" He asked, confused.
Her reply came quick like the crack of a whip. "No." No, she didn't want him to leave. Even if she was completely well, she would want him to stay. And she always would. Just being near him made her chest lift and her blood sing. With him she felt just as alive as she had when she first met him, when she'd fought and won and lived her own way. With him she felt whole; she felt as if he wiped away all memory of pain with his presence.
She loved him.
He turned to look at her, pouting like a child with the sheet up to her chin. She looked startlingly young for such a dangerous woman. Her posture was curved; her frame delicate, but her hazel eyes shone with a fierce need, a hunger that he'd always seen there. A hunger to belong; to be loved, to be wanted. "Because you need me."
Her brow furrowed as she considered this, and she asked him nothing more.
"Love isn't something you find. Love is something that finds you." ―Loretta Young
Sebastian opened the door to her room, carefully balancing a tray of food in his hands. Only to realize she wasn't there. "Hawke?"
She didn't answer.
Maker, how many times had he told that woman to stay in bed? Bah. Stubborn woman. In his mind's eye, he pictured her donning her robes and slipping onto the streets of Starkhaven, a sly smile on her face. She would. She still could.
She had a few times already.
"Bodahn?" he bellowed, going back out into the hallway.
"Yes, Master Vael?"
He sighed at that title, but otherwise didn't comment. He had told Bodahn to call him Sebastian before, after all; just as Hawke told him to stop calling her mistress. "Hawke isn't in her room!"
"Of course not, messere. She went out into the garden."
Oh.
Well, with any luck, she wasn't sneaking out to the tavern again.
He shifted the tray in his grasp and hurried towards the back door which led to the gardens of the estate.
He managed to make it there without dropping the tray or the food piled on top of it and without seriously injuring himself. A small victory, that. He blinked in the late afternoon sun, inhaling the scent of the city and the blooms of the garden.
Sebastian himself tended it; he had raised and planted every sprout there. When they had arrived, she confessed to have been longing for one, and it inspired him to work for days to simply see her smile again.
She sat not far away, laying in the grass of the back yard, propped up on her elbows. She wore a short-sleeved white dress, giving her the appearance of an innocent virtuous maiden. Her face was turned up towards the light with her eyes closed like a cat basking in the sunlight. She looked so peaceful, so serene like this; her hair curling around her bare shoulders, the brown turned golden in the evening sunshine. Her features relaxed and pretty. A vast difference from her usual expression of either humor or boredom.
And he could hear the faint sound of her voice, singing a quiet, unknown tune.
She gave no indication that she heard his approach, but he had no doubt that she did hear him. No one could sneak up on the Champion of Kirkwall.
The song abruptly cut off. "Hello, Sebastian," she greeted when he was no more than a few feet away. He carefully sat down, laying the tray on the flattest area of grass beside him.
Her hazel eyes opened slowly and she looked at him, her full lips curving into a lovely smile.
His heart thudded a little faster; he mentally told it to sod off.
"Hello, Hawke," he replied, his Starkhaven brogue slipping charmingly off his tongue. She suppressed a shiver.
"Decided to join me, did you?"
"I did tell you to stay in bed," he reminded her.
"You did," she agreed. "And I told you that I would go out again, whether you liked it or not."
"Aye, you did," he said. "You could've at least come and told me. It's not easy carrying your dinner in one hand."
She chuckled a bit and reached toward the tray, plucking off a strawberry. "Mm."
"Those are for dessert," he scolded.
"Hmm?" she hummed innocently as if she didn't hear, her lips wrapped around the fruit as her teeth bit into it. She closed her eyes in rapture as the juice coated her tongue in it's flavor.
He could feel the blush crawling up his neck and looked away. Instead, he grabbed one himself and proceeded to enjoy his treat.
She tossed the leaves into a nearby bush and fell back onto her back with a sigh, looking straight up at the clear blue of the sky. No clouds were in sight; it was a beautiful day.
He couldn't help but return the grin she sent his way as he lowered himself down beside her. For a while, neither of them said a word.
"Do you think this is part of the Maker's plan?" she asked him quietly.
He considered what she was talking about for a moment. "What do you mean?"
"Me," she laughed. "Varric, Fenris, Isabela, Aveline, Merrill. Us." He noticed the lack of one name. "Was Kirkwall all a part of His plan?"
"I don't know," he admitted.
"And what about me now? Do you think he's punishing me?"
He looked over the grass, into her hazel eyes. "Do you?"
Her eyes twinkled as she smiled. "No. If I was being punished, you wouldn't be with me."
He smiled back genuinely then, and he took her smaller hand in his, interlocking their fingers.
They did not return inside until the sun had set completely and the stars began to appear in the sky.
Summer gave way to fall as Hawke was more and more confined in her home. The leaves fell and formed small storms of their own, and the nip in the air had everyone bundling up more with each passing day.
It was clear to Sebastian that he had to take her with him whenever he went to the Chantry. But when he brought it up, she refused before he finished his sentence. He didn't know why she was so opposed to even a visit, but he wouldn't take no for an answer.
He made his move when they wandered through the market, her arm curled in his elbow as he led her along. He suddenly veered off the left in the direction of the Chantry.
"Sebastian," she complained, trying to tug him away from his path. But he carried her things, and it wasn't likely that she could get home on her own.
"Come along, Hawke. A few hours in a Chantry won't kill you."
Everyone stared at her as she entered, leaning on the archer. She looked away, ducking into his shoulder as they whispered to each other. Ah, he realized. She hated this, not the Chantry.
He sat them in the back row to ease her anxiety, if only slightly. A few moments later, the Grand Cleric stepped to the front and lifted her arms with her head thrown back, and she started the Chant.
Everyone began singing with her, even Hawke. He didn't know she'd ever learned the Chant; she never went into a Chantry unless she had business there or when she came to visit him. But as she was a mage, she had good reason to stay away.
"These truths the Maker has revealed to me:
As there is but one world,
One life, one death, there is
But one god, and He is our Maker."
And as Hawke lifted her powerful soprano to join the Chant, Sebastian was awed into silence.
"They are sinners, who have given their love
To false gods.
"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.
Foul and corrupt are they
Who have taken His gift
And turned it against His children.
They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.
They shall find no rest in this world
Or beyond."
She knew the Chant of Light by heart.
"All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands,
From the lowest slaves
To the highest kings.
Those who bring harm
Without provocation to the least of His children
Are hated and accursed by the Maker.
"Those who bear false witness
And work to deceive others, know this:
There is but one Truth.
All things are known to our Maker
And He shall judge their lies.
"All things in this world are finite.
What one man gains, another has lost.
Those who steal from their brothers and sisters
Do harm to their livelihood and to their peace of mind.
Our Maker sees this with a heavy heart."
Her voice echoed to a standstill around him, mixed with the Revered Mother's and the more hushed ones of the others. And it was over; Sebastian realized then that he'd remained silent during the Chant for the first time in years, listening to her.
Had he known that Hawke had such a pure, beautiful voice, he'd have taken her while they had still lived in Kirkwall.
He smiled at Hawke with a warmth she could have sworn she felt on her cheek, and she couldn't help but be glad he brought her here if it made him this happy. She never protested going to the Chantry after that.
And never again did he leave her behind on his trips there.
Fall faded slowly, the final warm days a distant memory as the world around them started to freeze, and winter loomed over them. Sebastian stocked up on firewood; he knew this winter would not be an agreeable one.
And on the evening of the first of Firstfall, he gave Hawke a gift.
He had searched and searched for something that was worthy of her, something that showed her what she meant to him. And only a couple weeks before, he found it. He didn't know why, but he knew he had to get it for her.
She was restless, propped up against the headboard with pillow as she stared out the window at the slowly falling snow when he came in. In his hands he held a small black pouch, around the size of a child's fist, drawn shut. He hid it behind his back as he approached, trying to delay the surprise.
"What are you hiding?" she said as she turned her head to face him. Her eyes were narrowed, but she was smiling. Like this, with her fire going and her long, golden brown hair splayed around her head like a halo, he swore she'd never looked more beautiful.
"Hmm?" he hummed absently, returning her smile with a mischievous glint in his blue eyes.
"I am the Champion of Kirkwall," she informed him, pretending to puff up. "Nothing can be hidden from me."
"Oh?" he asked. "Very well then, my lady." He brought the pouch around, allowing her to see it.
"What is it?" she asked again, leaning towards him but not reaching for it. She eyed it suspiciously.
As she watched, he pulled the string loose and emptied the contents into his palm. A glint of shining purple caught her eye; she looked closer. There, in his hand, was a piece of amethyst shaped somewhat like a teardrop. Coiled around the pointier end was a coil of metal on a chain. It was a necklace.
She gasped quietly; he hoped that was a good sign. He took her hand in his and gave it to her for closer inspection.
She held it up to the light, watching the way the firelight gleamed through the stone. On the inside there were several scratch-like dark streaks and it wasn't smooth; the gem wasn't perfect, but she loved it all the same.
"For Satinalia," he explained.
She bit her lip, eyes shining. "Sebastian…" she shook her head. "I can't… how much did this cost you?"
"It doesn't matter," he insisted, closing her fingers around the pendant. "I'm giving it to you."
She looked away, and said nothing for a long time. "I have nothing for you."
He smiled. "You give me more than you know, Hawke."
Her head bowed. "... Thank you."
Eventually he stood up and kissed her on the forehead, her eyes closing as his lips touched her skin, and he left the room.
When she heard the door close and he was gone, she sniffled a little, clutching the necklace to her chest. In moments like this, it was easy to pretend that he loved her the way she loved him. But... no. If he did, it would hurt him more in the end.
But that didn't change the fact that she was already lost.
She only hoped he would never forget her; she knew she'd never forget him.
With shaking fingers, she clasped the gift around her neck, the gem settling between her breasts. It was warm from being in his hands.
She looked back out the window at the barely-there snowfall, and she quietly began to sing.
"Set me as a seal on your heart
Set me as a seal on your soul
As strong as death is love
Unyielding as the grave
Nothing will quench it's flame
Nothing will quench it's flame
Kiss me, my love that your name
Be on my lips
You intoxicate my being
With the fragrance of your presence
How beautiful you are, my darling
Show me your face, let me hear your voice
Sweet as the dew in the early morn'
Like a lily among the thorns
Set me as a seal on your heart
Set me as a seal on your soul
Strong as death is love
Unyielding as the grave
Nothing will quench it's flame
Nothing will quench it's flame."
The prince stood frozen just outside her door, his ear pressed against it. His breath came in shallow, quiet pants, trying to keep from being heard.
Then with an aching heart, Sebastian walked away to his own room. Whether she was singing of him, he didn't know.
But part of him (he didn't want to admit how big this part was) hoped.
"The heart wants what it wants. There's no logic to these things. You meet someone and you fall in love and that's that." — Woody Allen
Haring came; the final breaths of fall freezing into an unforgiving winter. It wasn't usually colder than Kirkwall had been, but it was one of the coldest winters anyone living there could remember. The extreme temperatures and unending snowfall forced almost every shop to close and Sebastian struggled to keep her fed. It was nonstop war in the house to keep the cold out; Sebastian was glad he at least had Bodahn and Sandal to help keep the fires going.
She grew more and more fragile every day, her once hard muscles turning soft and unreliable as she spent more and more time in bed. This worried her.
"What am I going to do when I get out of this bed?" she griped to Sebastian as he handed her a hot bowl of soup for her dinner. "I'll have so much work to do. I'll be lucky if I can take down a couple bandits on my own."
Sebastian remained silent. He knew the truth about her, the truth she hid and didn't want to believe: that she'd likely never get any better than she was now.
As yet another snow storm blew away at the city, Hawke was fighting her own battle.
She couldn't get out of the tub.
No matter how hard she gripped the sides, how long she strained to lift her own weight without shaking, she couldn't do it. It was no use; she couldn't get her legs to work. Yet she refused to call for Sebastian. This was getting to be too much.
Fighting tears, she wiggled and squirmed, trying and trying to escape the tub. The water was chilling quickly; she started shivering, rubbing her arms to keep warmth in.
"Hawke?" Sebastian's voice drifted from behind the screen of the bathroom; something he had put there to protect her modesty. Something she hadn't cared about at the time, but now she was grateful for.
She jumped, startled, and snapped back, "What?"
"Are you finished?"
She chewed her lip and glared at the wall, not wanting to say. Already did he carry her almost everywhere and feed her and even help her dress at some points; she didn't want yet another thing she could not accomplish on her own.
"Hawke?"
Still no reply.
"Do you need help?"
"No!"
There was a shuffling of feet, and his head poked around the screen. She almost threw her bar of soap at him, but his eyes were safely closed. "Sebastian! Get out!"
"Hawke," he repeated. His voice was low, disapproving. His usual tone whenever he was speaking to her these days.
"No," she said again, more quietly this time. But when he stepped around the screen with his arms out to see for him, she did not object. She simply crossed her arms over her chest and didn't say a word. He stepped awkwardly across the floor, his eyes still shut. One of his arms reached to the side, searching for her robe.
"Get closer to the wall," she ordered, and he obeyed. His fingers finally closed around the soft fabric of her dressing gown and he carefully pulled it off it's hook.
"Give me your hands, Hawke."
For once, she did as he asked without comment, and his calloused archer's hand curled around her smaller, paler one. With his support, she successfully got to her feet and he draped her robe over her shoulders.
Once her arms were in the sleeves, she tied the string around her to keep it in place and he lifted her into his arms, his eyes finally opened and he carried her back to her bed.
When he left her alone that night, she wept for the turn her life had taken, the things she had lost, and the things she could now never have while the blizzard outside drowned her out.
She couldn't bathe herself anymore.
This loss hurt, but not as much as it had when she learned Sebastian had locked her combat gear into a chest and she no longer had the strength to bring it back out.
The realization that Sebastian had to help her with this both agitated and excited her. It had been years since anyone, female or male, had dared to touch her without the intent to injure or kill. She'd had plenty of opportunity, especially with some of her companions, but it hadn't tickled her fancy at the time.
Fenris, Isabela, and Anders being the top contenders for her affections.
But Sebastian was her best friend; he was painfully handsome and sweet, and just thinking about him or hearing his voice made her palms sweat and her pulse quicken. Somehow, this was so much different from Anders rubbing her shoulders or Isabela 'accidentally' groping her.
She found herself wondering if he was breaking any of his vows by doing this. If he was, he wasn't complaining.
He rolled up the sleeves of his tan cloth shirt and guided her as if she were a piece of glass. His eyes were shut as he helped her into the tub. She gave an aggravated huff, and he asked, "What?"
She rolled her eyes. "It's silly to keep your eyes shut. Unless you're going to hire help, you'll see me naked sooner or later."
"Anyone I could hire would flee the Free Marches within the week," he teased, but relented and opened his bright ocean eyes. He would only look when necessary, he promised himself.
She grinned. "Pfft. I'd have them packing by the end of the first day."
Her arms were shaking; not only from her illness, but from nervousness. He had to help her.
Gently, he washed her skin, keeping his gaze as averted as possible; he brushed the washcloth over her back, down her spine. She sighed contentedly, arching like a cat into his hand. Then back up, over her arms; and down her legs, avoiding her more private areas. She breathed deeply through her mouth, clenching her eyes shut as he washed her ribs.
His own breathing was coming quicker now, and nothing he could do could quiet it. He recited a prayer over and over in his mind as the washcloth moved over her navel.
Blessed are they who stand before
The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.
It slid down the soft skin of her hip to her inner thigh and a quiet moan escaped her lips. His cheeks and ears reddened, desire curling in the pit of his stomach. He cursed himself and his body's reaction. She needed him and he couldn't keep himself in check? What kind of man... His anger at himself did not cool the fire in his blood; simply thinking about it made it worse. With a frustrated sigh, he continued; this time completely avoiding her thighs.
Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.
Her knees, bent out of the water, raised into gooseflesh when he washed them. Her legs fumbled and rubbed together, rippling the water around her. He gulped, forcing his eyes away from her. He tried to focus on the floor instead.
Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.
But her skin, glistening and wet, was so eye-catching; he couldn't help but eye her shapely legs as he ran the cloth over them. And though she knew he was watching her, she did not even attempt to cover herself.
In their blood the Maker's will-
She placed her hand over his, stilling his movements and thoughts with this gesture. "Sebastian," she said; her voice rough and unwavering.
He could deny her nothing. He brought his gaze up to hers, waiting.
And as he watched, she took his free hand; the sleeve had partly unrolled itself and was sprinkled with dots of moisture, and she brought his palm to her lips. She lingered there for a moment, then released him. He only moved to the side, cupping her cheek.
Her eyes were beautiful. He could see almost every possible color there even now as they darkened with lust. The dusting of pink across her proud cheekbones was charming, and her full, plump lips, parted with desire, were so tempting it was driving him mad.
His could still feel the liquid fire she had branded into his palm with her lips.
She gazed up at him, for once her dark eyes clouded with shyness. She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, chewing it nervously. The sight made his blood pump a little faster. "May I... kiss you?"
He could only nod, strangely humbled by her request, and with a tug of his auburn hair she pulled his lips to hers.
"We are most alive when we're in love." — John Updike
The moment their lips touched, his brain short-circuited; all he could think now, all he could see, feel, touch, breathe, was her. His arms went around her dripping body without conscious thought and when her lips parted, he eagerly met her advancing tongue with his own.
He didn't remember standing, but suddenly they were on their feet. She drew him to her once more and wrapped her arms around his neck, trapping him. One of her hands clutched at his curly hair and a low, hungry sound escaped his throat in response.
"Hawke," he said against her, almost like a question. "I…-"
She silenced him with her lips. She kissed him again, more softly this time. She tasted faintly of honey and strawberries. She pulled back for a heartbeat, but kept a surprisingly tight hold on him. His chest felt cold where her breasts had just been. "Say my real name," she whispered.
For a moment, he was confused. "Hawke?"
"My given name."
He inhaled, digging around in his memory for where he stored the first name of the Champion of Kirkwall. It took him a moment, but eventually his reply came.
"Elisabeth," he murmured in his brogue.
Her body shuddered wantonly in his arms, pressing tightly against him once more. No one spoke like he did. "Sebastian," she answered, pleadingly. "Please."
He could deny her nothing.
It seemed a thousand lives ago Sebastian had sat in the Hanged Man with Varric, Merrill, Anders, Isabela, and Fenris as they chatted about Hawke. At the time, she was likely threatening some lowlife, and thus the subject turned to her.
"What I wouldn't give to find out what she's like in bed," Isabela purred, propping her feet up on the table and giving several of the patrons an eyeful.
"Seconded," Anders added, his movements slowed and made awkward with alcohol. Fenris glanced up briefly, looking surprised.
"I thought you and Hawke were-"
"Rutting?" Isabela supplied childishly. Fenris glared daggers at her.
It was the unspoken assumption of everyone. Anders and Hawke were rather close those days; they were rarely seen apart. And the way he looked at her... surely she would not miss that.
"I wish," Anders laughed. "She's such a powerful woman. I wonder what she's like. Most of the women I've been with are completely different in the bedroom."
"I bet she's a wildcat," said Isabela.
"It's hard to picture anything else," Varric agreed."Though she's never told me anything about a lover, here or otherwise."
"Why must we talk about this every time?" Sebastian groaned, placing a hand over his weary eyes. He'd spent most of the day hunting criminals, after all.
Isabela arched an eyebrow at him. "Aw, are we making the Chantry boy uncomfortable? After the things I've heard about you, it should take a lot more that this to get you to blush." She leaned forward. "Not that I'm complaining; you're very cute when you blush."
Sebastian sighed, glancing back towards the others.
"Maybe she's innocent," Merrill suggested. "I think she's innocent. She would have told us otherwise, yes?"
"Daisy, this is hardly a topic she'd discuss with you." Varric smiled over at the pixie-like elf.
"I think she's a romantic," Anders argued. "She's a hard woman to please. I think she'd be more…" he trailed off, trying to find the right word.
"Prude?"
"Shut up, Isabela."
Of all the times Sebastian had thought about it, (and he did think about it, no matter how much he tried to deny it to himself and the others of the Chantry) he never could have imagined what she was like.
The others thought she would be rough and wild in bed, handling it as she handled everything else in her life: with force and purpose, her in complete control.
But Merrill and Anders had been correct, sort of. She was delicate and shy in matters of the heart and to her, sex was an emotional occurrence.
She was innocent. She'd never laid with a man before, not once in Lothering for fear the Templars would get her, and not once in Kirkwall as she was far too busy. She had never been touched the way Sebastian touched her.
But of all the ways he imagined breaking his vows, and he had imagined it in the earlier days of his life in the Chantry, he never thought it would happen like this. He never thought it would happen with her.
Hawke was not the Hawke she was before; no, the Hawke he knew back in Kirkwall was the most fearsome and deadly fighter the Free Marches had ever seen. She was tough, strong and stubborn, and on the battlefield and beyond she never gave up. That Hawke was a legend, an unbreakable protector of justice and peace. She was untouchable, unreachable.
This Hawke was different. No, she wasn't Hawke.
She was Elisabeth.
Elisabeth was shy. When he commented on how pretty she looked or how lovely she sang in the Chant, she would look down and blush, denying the truth of his words. Elisabeth was creative and passionate; she drew on scrap paper she found, she wrote poetry, and she sang.
The Hawke he'd known before had never done any of these things.
Elisabeth was beautiful. Before, in Kirkwall, she didn't seem to let anyone think that about her. She drew her hair into a tight bun and scowled and made faces while bashing heads. Elisabeth's beauty was delicate and soft; just like her. Her eyes were a strange mixture of gray-green-blue-brown, and no matter how long he gazed into them Sebastian was not satisfied. Her skin was a pale peach, scattered with golden freckles. Her cheeks were high and proud, her face noble. Her lips were so lush, soft pink and full; lovely even when she was frowning or biting them.
If Sebastian didn't know better, he'd say they were two different people. He would say that Hawke and Elisabeth might be related, but not the same.
How could the Champion of Kirkwall, the mightiest mage in the Free Marches and possibly all of Thedas, turn into…
Elisabeth.
He didn't know.
But however it had happened, it had. And now she was frail; weak, even. Words he thought and hoped he would never use to describe her. But she was; impossibly so. She needed him desperately and she showed him with her body on that cold, windy night.
She opened her heart and her arms to him. Trusting him. She responded to him in a way she never had with anyone else.
Elisabeth was nothing like those other girls he'd shared his bed with in his youth. He knew, as he laid her on the pillows and her hands began undressing him, that it was different because he never cared about them the way he cared for her. Back then, the only thing he'd cared about was his own pleasure; he took it wherever and whenever he pleased.
But this wasn't for him. This was for her.
He remembered his vows, and he knew he was breaking his promises, not only to the Maker, but to himself as well... But he couldn't just... push her away. Even if he wanted to.
Not when she needed him.
Especially not when he needed her just as badly.
So he made his decision that night. Elisabeth, and her time left, however long it may be, was what mattered most to him now.
In the morning when he started to rise, tried to think it over and convince himself that what he had done was wrong, she stopped him with a pale arm and a sharp comment.
"Sebastian Vael, get back here right now. Don't make me come up there," she threatened.
At this, he had to laugh. He had held her as she clung to him until the wee hours of the morning, but when the sun was up she was as tough as the day she defeated the Arishok, and ready to prove it.
As he gazed down at her pouting, playful face, warm affection rushed through him, his heart swelling enough to close his throat.
And he was hers.
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn Is to love and be loved in return." —Natalie Cole
He didn't realize it until it was too late.
She was everything. Everything she was, everything she had, she shared with him and in return, she took possession of him. And he didn't notice.
Everything he did was for her. Everything be had ever done led him to her. Before, when he was a cloistered brother, he only left the Chantry for her. He got up in the morning for her. He went to sleep at night for her.
She gave everything meaning.
There was something about her humorous, arrogant way that just… drew him in. It was everything she was; from the way she hated tea, loved strawberries and thought nugs were evil to the way her eyelashes brushed her cheeks when she looked down shyly, which was rare but oh so lovely. Her snarl and grimace was just as pretty to him as her smile; and sometimes they were more amusing, too.
He needed those things. He didn't know what he'd do if he didn't have that snarky, beautiful woman to prank him and tell him to move his cute arse. He didn't know how he'd survive without her sharp laughter or her happy squeal or her angry huff. It was too late to change it, but he couldn't care less.
He loved her.
And he didn't realize it until it was too late.
In Cloudreach, she forgot.
She woke from a nap terrified, crying out for Sebastian as her hands curled in the empty sheets, searching for him. "Sebastian," she whimpered. "Sebastian!"
He was up the stairs in an instant, taking her smaller, colder hand in his. "What is it, sweetling?"
"Could you fetch Anders for me?" she asked quietly. "I don't feel well."
Sebastian stared at her in disbelief as she looked back, hazel eyes pleading. "Uhm…"
"Please," she begged. "I know you two don't get along well, but please. The clinic should be open by now… And he always comes to me when I need him."
Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he plastered a smile on his face and nodded. "Of course, sweetling. I'll be back before you know it." He kissed her forehead and left, quietly shutting her door behind him. "Bodahn," he called sadly. "I'm going out."
…
Several hours later, when he came back with only poultices to help with her pain, she had already remembered.
He entered her room silently, watching her. She was curled into a ball on her bed, sobs wracking her frame as tears streamed down her cheeks. She was speaking, too.
"Oh, Maker," she breathed brokenly. "Anders…"
"Elisabeth," he whispered, coming to stand beside her.
When she looked up at him, her eyes were agonized. Sorrowful. Broken. "Sebastian," she sobbed. "What have I done?"
He set the poultices on the floor and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, cradling her to his chest. Her head rested on his collarbone as she cried. "You've done nothing wrong, sweetling."
"No," she denied. "No, Maker, no… I killed him… I killed him, Sebastian! He was my friend! I tried to- I thought I could-" she hiccupped. "I couldn't stop him…"
"Elisabeth," he soothed, stroking her hair.
"He killed Elthina. I'm sorry, Sebastian," she apologized. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't stop him. He killed her, he would have killed you… I couldn't… I can't…"
"There was nothing you could have done, Elisabeth," he assured her, rubbing a hand up and down her back in calming circles. "Anders got what he deserved."
They rarely spoke about what happened to Anders. She knew Sebastian hated him, but Sebastian knew she once loved him as one of her dearest friends. He knew that though she never said it, she had killed Anders because Sebastian had wanted her to. She did it because she knew how hurt he'd been about losing Elthina. She did it for him.
"If he had killed you, I don't know what I would have done," she admitted. "But I wouldn't have... waffled, as you said, no. I couldn't have lost you. I would never have let him walk away."
"I know," he said quietly. And he did. If their places had been reversed, he knew he would have felt the same, even if it had been his dearest friend.
She buried her face in her hands. "But then, I… I… I made you… I…"
"What is it, a chroí?" He pulled her hands away, trying to get her to look at him.
"Maker, I… I sullied you!"
And she was so bewildered he could have laughed, had the situation been different. He caught her face between his hands and looked her in the eye seriously. "You have done no such thing, Elisabeth. You did not 'sully' me."
She shook her head, still trapped in his hands. "You needn't pity me, Sebastian."
"I do not, I…" He didn't know how to finish. "I never pitied you, a chroí."
Her brow furrowed with confusion. "What does that mean?"
"It's a Starkhaven term of endearment," he admitted. "It means 'my heart'."
And she was his.
Loving her was as simple and easy as breathing. She was still so quick-witted and sarcastic; life was never boring with her. Living with her may have been slightly difficult, as she still tried to retain her independence, even if playfully.
But she was special in a way that no one else was. She was the one who avenged his family and finally set his heart to rest. She was the one who unwittingly saved his life on the night Anders murdered Grand Cleric Elthina. She was the one who made him realize who he was and what truly mattered.
She was fire. She was passion. She was determination in it's purest, rawest form and he was helpless to resist.
She was important now. She was the one he broke his vows for.
Whenever he dared to say he wasn't worthy of her, she would huff impatiently, and he would be scolded for the next several minutes. She told him that he was one of the few who stood by her when she chose to protect the mages, and that he had saved her life more than once with his skills. And if someone who saved and protected her wasn't worthy, then she didn't care who was.
At one point, she fired it back at him and told him that she wasn't worthy of him.
"I'm a crippled apostate," she'd said bitterly.
"You're the Champion of Kirkwall!" he'd argued.
"And you're the Prince of Starkhaven!"
"You've saved countless innocents."
"So have you!"
He sighed. "Hawke, you'd be worthy of anyone you chose."
Her eyes had flashed fire at him then, and he was reminded exactly how powerful her spirit still was. "I chose you, Sebastian. I know of your past and I know you regret it. To me, it is enough. I love you. And I believe with every fiber of my being that you would be worthy of anyone you chose, too."
And that was the end of that discussion. Somehow, she always had a way of either making him believe her or sidetracking him, like she had done by trailing her fingers down his bare chest and beneath the covers he was laying under.
And he certainly wasn't going to start complaining about that.
He went to sleep with her in his arms every night, and he woke up with her there every morning. Well, except the mornings when she was hungry and she got up before him, usually to find more interesting ways to wake him up. Most of them included magic or water. Or both.
He simply hoped he would wake up before she decided to freeze him to the bed again.
But one morning he was lucky, and she had chosen to wake him up in an especially interesting way. He'd woken that morning to her hand between his legs, tracing teasing patterns with magically heated fingers. Desire was already pooling and aching in his loins, fire flooding his veins, and without further ceremony she threw a leg over him and mounted him like a stallion.
There were worse ways to wake up.
Her memory was a strange thing. It came and went, but whenever it did, there was one constant: Sebastian. No matter how much she forgot, she always remembered she loved him.
It was enough. Enough for him to take care of her.
He wouldn't trade it for anything.
"When love is not madness it is not love." ― Pedro Calderón de la Barca
Her nameday was the 5th of Bloomingtide.
And Sebastian had no idea what to give to her.
He'd given her jewelry already. He'd given her sweets on her namedays in Kirkwall. But somehow, none of that seemed fitting now.
He loved her. The only problem was he had no idea what to give to her that showed her.
Nowadays, when she went out, either he had to carry her or let her lean on him while she used a walking stick. She hated it, claiming it made her look like an old woman, but she'd do it for fresh air.
He spent very little time in the chantry now, as most of his time was spent with Elisabeth, but every now and again he would visit when he had the time. He did not regret breaking his vows of chastity to be with Elisabeth, but he did regret some things. He prayed for forgiveness when he could.
It was during one of these times that he got an idea.
He'd sat in one of the chantry pews, praying, when something ran into his leg.
"Owf!"
Sebastian jolted up, blinking in surprise as he looked down beneath his seat at the small face there.
He chuckled as he watched the little girl who sat rubbing her head. "Hello, there."
"Hi," she answered. "Who are you?"
"I am Sebastian Vael. Who are you?" He asked her.
"Vael? Like the prince?" At his nod, she gave a slight bow, giggling. "My name's Hannah."
"Pleased to meet you, Hannah," Sebastian said, shaking her tiny hand. "And what are you doing down there?"
"Hiding!" She replied excitedly. "What are you doing?"
"Praying," he said. "But mainly thinking."
"About what?"
He smiled. "About my sweetheart."
She grinned back at him. "Is she your princess?"
He laughed. "Aye, that she is."
Now that he thought about it, if he married her, then yes, she would be a princess.
The little girl seemed delighted by this. "Did you rescue her?"
He pursed his lips, considering the times he'd saved her life, the time in Orlais at Chateau Haine when he and Merrill had run down the halls of the dungeon. He guessed that could count. "I suppose."
"Are you gonna marry her now?"
He paused. Sure, Elisabeth had never mentioned anything about wanting to get married, but he couldn't help but feel that she deserved it. She deserved everything.
So, with the help of a six year old, he got an idea.
Elisabeth knew he was hiding something. She just knew it. He only acted like this when he knew something she didn't know. So he was hiding something.
... Right?
Ugh.
He'd been dancing around her for the past few days, giving her his 'I have a secret' smile. He went out a lot more, and stayed out longer. He had to be doing something... but what?
And, more importantly, why?
She couldn't just ask him, obviously. If he didn't tell her about it in the first place, he probably wouldn't tell her if asked directly either. But she had no clues. Other than his behavior, she had nothing to go on. He was clever, too clever to leave behind evidence of what he was doing.
It went on for several days. He kept staying out later, making more and more ridiculous excuses.
Well this was the end of it. As soon as he got home, she'd demand that he tell her what was going on.
Just as soon as he got home.
Which would be any moment now, she was sure.
Any moment.
She sat in her room in the chair beside her bed, lounging around in her dressing gown. Max sat at her feet, panting and looking up at her happily. It was after dinner time; the sun was already setting. So where was Sebastian?
He was really in for it.
When her door opened, she very nearly let him have it... except it wasn't Sebastian. It was Bodahn.
"Mistress Hawke," he said excitedly. "You must get dressed! Hurry, now."
"What?" She stuttered. "But- what should I wear? Where are we going?"
"Wear your white dress, Miss," he suggested. "Hurry along, now."
He shut the door, leaving her alone.
Hawke huffed, but did as she was told.
When she was ready, Bodahn, Sandal, and Max led her outside, each dwarf taking one of her hands with Max trotting along behind them.
They wouldn't tell her where they were going, no matter how many times she asked. Sandal looked about ready to burst with enthusiasm, his eyes shining with excitement as he grinned from ear to ear.
"Enchantment," was all he said when she asked him what they were doing.
Instead of heading down the road, they took her around the house, towards the garden. This confused her; if they were taking her to the back, why not just take her out the back door?
Then she saw the trail of candles.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The candles made a path through the garden. A path that led to a prince, wearing all white with a crown of flowers.
Elisabeth smiled, her eyes filling with tears.
He smiled back, walking up to meet her. He placed another crown of flowers on her head, so they would match, and slid down to one knee. He gently took her hands from the two dwarves.
"Elisabeth."
"Yes?" she breathed.
"I love you," he told her. "I wanted to give you something special for your nameday. Something that showed you what you mean to me." He pulled a simple gold band from his pocket. "Only one thing came to mind."
Elisabeth let out a choked sound, muffled by her hand. Her eyelashes were coated with tears.
"You are a seal on my heart and soul."
She blushed, pretending to glare. He'd been listening...
"Your hand is the only thing I realized I really want," he continued, "because I want to give you everything. All I ask is that you let me." He met her gaze. "Will you marry me, Elisabeth?"
And she collapsed into his arms, kissing every inch of his face as she clung to him. "Yes," she cried.
"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage." — Lao Tzu
Not even an hour later, Sebastian made an honest woman out of her.
It was small ceremony, with only Bodahn, Sandal, Max, and the brothers and sisters who knew Sebastian as witnesses, but it was perfect.
The sisters helped her walk down the aisle, and Sandal carried her ring for her. Max stood beside Sebastian, acting as best man.
He promised to love her forever, and she promised her love in return.
When it was over, he carried her all the way home, humming the song she'd sung on Satinalia.
And she was truly, irrevocably his.
"The best thing to hold onto in life is each other." ―Audrey Hepburn
Her time was coming, and coming soon.
She caught the barest hint of a cold at the beginning of Justinian; something that she barely would've noticed in her life before, but now...
It nearly killed her.
He thought he had lost her. Her temperature had spiked incredibly high incredibly quickly, and every cough or sneeze was so powerful it ripped her chest apart. She had lain in bed, so quiet, so still, for so long. He had been powerless. All he could do was hold her hand and brush the hair away from her face as her body shuddered violently.
"I will always be with you," she'd told him weakly, smiling through her tears of pain.
"I love you," he had whispered back, his own cheeks damp with sorrow.
But miraculously, she recovered. Her fever cooled, her body calmed. It was incredible; the healers were baffled. Bodahn was ecstatic. But there was no mistaking it.
Her time was coming. And soon.
When she told Sebastian that she wanted to see Varric and Fenris again, he didn't question her.
He could see the sadness in her eyes and he knew she believed she was running out of time. Sebastian didn't let himself believe it; every day the healers were working on a cure, and any day now they would find a way to heal her, or at least slow the process. And though he knew he might already be damned to the Void for his sins, he prayed the Maker would spare her. He still had faith.
Fenris wasn't hard to find. He was easy to spot and when people saw him they remembered. Sebastian caught Fenris during a game of Wicked Grace at the Inn, and he explained everything to him.
For several moments, the elf went completely silent, his forest colored eyes burning holes in the rug of his room. "How long does she have?"
"I don't know, Fenris," Sebastian admitted.
And Fenris agreed.
Varric was more difficult, but Hawke knew where to find him. She sent a letter with Bodahn, and though they received no response, she assured Sebastian that he would arrive soon.
And though Elisabeth didn't know it, Sebastian had sent a few letters of his own.
Fenris arrived the day after Sebastian invited him, carrying something Sebastian never thought he'd see - flowers.
In his arms he held several beautiful blooms of all colors and types, from fiery marigolds and soft violets to delicate lilies and pink heather. Sebastian recognized quite a few of them. Bells of Starkhaven were scattered among the others, being a more common flower there, and a yellow daffodil caught his eye. And in the center was a single pure white chrysanthemum, large and proud.
Hawke couldn't name as many as Sebastian could, but she was ecstatic all the same at the beautiful gift Fenris had brought her. She recognized the few daisies that stood out against the others and she had to smile, remembering her Dalish friend.
"Oh," she sighed as he stepped forward, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Fenris, they're... lovely. Thank you."
But the lightness in her that had been put there by Fenris's flowers diminished as she considered why she asked him to come.
"Hawke," Fenris replied, almost sharply. Then again, everything about the elf was sharp. Hawke wouldn't have been surprised if his arse was pointy as well.
Sebastian took the flowers carefully and went to put them in a vase as Fenris sat beside her bed in a chair that had been placed there for him. He left them alone; they deserved privacy, especially since she had asked it of him earlier.
They stayed in that room for a long time. Only once did he hear Fenris raise his voice, but it made Sebastian cringe and he had to stop himself from barging in.
Eventually, the door opened quietly; so quietly, if Sebastian hadn't been paying attention, he wouldn't have noticed. Fenris stepped out into the hall, his eyes glaring daggers at the floor, his shoulders tensed. He looked at the prince only once before he left, moving close enough to whisper to him.
"Take care of her," was all Fenris requested.
"I will, to the best of my abilities," Sebastian vowed.
Fenris left.
It took Varric a few days longer, and one of the days Hawke was so far gone she thought her sister was alive. Blessedly, when the dwarf finally did arrive, it was when she had regained herself.
He promptly threw open the door, a grin on his face, and as always, Bianca at his back. Trailing behind him was a tall, brutish-looking boy with large arms and Grey Warden armor.
Carver.
"Hey, Hawke!" was Varric's greeting. "Miss me?"
It turned out, Varric knew nothing of Hawke's illness. To tear through her house looking for her and find her laying in her bed, pale and thin, was a terrible sight.
Sebastian tried to warn him about what he'd see, but nothing could prepare him for this.
The once mighty, unbroken, fearsome Champion was laying beneath her covers, her back propped up against the headboard. The nightgown she wore no longer fit her properly, hanging loosely around her skinny frame. Her skin was paler than ever from her lack of sun, and her eyes were grey, clouded with despair.
Varric froze at the sight of her. How long had he fought at her side and at her back, knowing that whoever or whatever it was that they were up against never stood a chance? Bandits, slavers, demons, blood mages, darkspawn, qunari, Corypheus...
And now, here she was; a broken woman. Vulnerable and small.
Carver shoved past him so fast Varric nearly lost his balance, and in seconds he was at her side.
"Sister?" he asked, as if he could not believe it was her. Her hazel eyes flicked up to meet his.
"Carver?" she responded, shock coloring her voice.
It was Sebastian who sent word to Carver. Elisabeth had insisted that Carver not be notified, but this was one order the prince would not follow. He would not keep the last of her family out as she shut herself away.
"What-" Carver began, only to be cut off by Varric who had come up behind him.
"Hawke, what happened?"
Her gaze shifted to the dwarf, and she closed her eyes. "I... I'm sick."
For once, Varric's silver tongue abandoned him. "I don't... understand..."
"Sebastian," she said suddenly, "Would you please... make some tea for me?"
The prince nodded his understanding. "Of course, a chroí."
He left them alone.
Nearly an hour later, Carver stepped out of her room, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, obviously distressed. When he noticed Sebastian, he marched right up to him and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.
"You be good to her, you hear?" he snarled. "Keep her safe, or I swear I'll drag you down to the Deep Roads and feed you to the darkspawn."
Wide-eyed, Sebastian nodded, and Carver released him, stalking outside.
Varric didn't come out for several more minutes, but when he did, he went straight to Sebastian as well.
"She loves you, you know. Always has."
Sebastian blinked in surprise. "I know."
Glancing both ways as if making sure no one else was listening, Varric grinned. "So, I heard about you and Hawke from a villager or two... it seems those vows of yours aren't exactly intact. So tell me: did you... propose? Sweep her off her feet? Take her under the stars to profess your undying love? Did she jump you?"
Sebastian couldn't help it; he laughed. "No! Well, not exactly."
Varric perked up. "Oh, c'mon, Choir Boy. You're killing me here. I need details, so I get the story right when I tell it."
"Oh, get out of here, Varric." He pushed the dwarf towards the door.
"Fine, but if you don't tell me, I'm just going to have to make it up." Just before he left, Varric turned back, throwing one last glance at the prince. "Just... be careful, Choir Boy."
And before Sebastian could ask what he meant by that, the dwarf left.
"No matter how short life is, love is eternal."
On the twentieth of Justinian, she was gone.
She didn't fight. She didn't go out the way he had meant for her to; he would have rather her never leave at all.
But he had no control over this.
On their final day together, she ordered him to stay in bed with her, even as the bells tolled to signal past noon. He obliged her, unable to refuse.
He often didn't know how much she remembered on any particular day, but on this day, he knew her mind was her own.
She had changed somehow. She said very little; he noticed the thoughtful look on her face and how every once in a while, she would open her mouth slightly, as if to say something, then shut it. The dark circles under her eyes betrayed her lack of sleep; he had suspicions that she'd been keeping awake after he fell asleep. She stayed wrapped in his arms, breathing steadily in and out.
She watched him, tracing every feature of his face with tender strokes of her fingers and gently combing them through his hair. He closed his eyes, sighing in contentment.
He dozed off a few times, and he would wake to the sound of her humming the sweet tune he'd heard her singing on Satinalia.
She let him hold her until around dinnertime, when she sat up and looked out the window as if seeing it for the first time.
"Sebastian, will you go out and fetch fresh strawberries for me?"
He agreed to go out, putting on his trousers and shirt before heading to the door. She stopped him, climbing out unsteadily after him. She wasn't up for this and he knew it; she didn't have the strength to even walk unaided.
He caught her halfway, and she looked up at him gratefully. The broken, sorrowful look had returned, but she smiled at him even as her lip quivered. "I love you," she whispered.
It was the fifth time she had said the actual words.
"And I love you, a chroí," he promised her, kissing her lips a final time before hurrying out to the market.
He would always be glad he said that to her one last time, for when he came back about an hour later, she was gone.
"When the sun has set, no candle can replace it." ― George R. R. Martin
When he returned, her window was dark; she must have turned the lights out. He didn't know why, but it made him move a bit faster as he set the basket of strawberries in the kitchen and hurried upstairs to her bedroom. He grabbed the handle of the door and twisted, leaning in to open the door.
The door wouldn't budge.
He pushed harder. It creaked in protest, but didn't open. He knocked; there was no answer. The door was cold, bitingly cold to the touch.
Only then did panic settle in his gut.
Sebastian backed up and threw himself into the door with all his strength. It broke under his weight, crashing to the floor and he rushed into the room, stepping over the ice that had frozen the door shut. Magic.
Why had she wanted to keep him out?
Her bed was empty, but his gaze was drawn to the floor where a crumpled figure laid.
His heart stopped in his chest. "Maker, no..."
He was crouched beside her in a flash, pulling her limp body into his arms and drawing her close. "No, Elisabeth, no..."
She didn't stir. Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful, her chest still. She wasn't breathing.
Tears blurred his vision and he blinked rapidly as his lips formed kisses to her cheeks and forehead. One of his hands, trembling so hard, went to hers, to hold it.
She held something smooth in her hand, her fingers closed around it. When he pulled it free and brought it up to the light, he realized what it was.
A vial.
With a sob, he buried his face in her hair and cried, his entire body shaking with the force of his grief. And there he would stay, uselessly calling her name and begging her to open her eyes until Bodahn found him and they took her away from him.
"Because death is the only thing that could have ever kept him from you." ― Ally Carter
She was gone.
She left no note, no message as to why she had drunk that wretched poison.
But oh, he knew why. She never wanted to die like that; wasting away, slowly losing everything until nothing was left. She didn't deserve that.
Elisabeth Hawke deserved to die on her own terms, in her own way, with no one to tell her otherwise.
But losing her was…
He couldn't describe it. He swore he could feel the loss of her, a hollow ache in his chest where his heart used to beat.
He wished he had known sooner that he loved her.
He wished he had known before she'd become ill.
He wished he had known before they'd left Kirkwall.
He wished... he just wished he had more time.
Her funeral was held that week in the Chantry in a beautiful service. People poured into the city, from Kirkwall and beyond, to see their Champion one last time and tell her their goodbyes. Many of the Starkhaven citizens attended as well, knowing her from the Chantry, from Varric's tales, or from Sebastian. There were so many, they overflowed from the seats. People sat upon others, on bookcases, on the floor, or they stood crowded in the back or the aisles. The sight made Sebastian's eyes burn.
She was there, laying on the cold stone altar before Andraste. She looked so young, so innocent, wearing her simple white dress. He couldn't help but feel she didn't belong there.
The purple of the stone around her neck stood out over the top of her dress; the people in the Chantry had offered to give it back to him, but he had refused. No; he would leave this small piece of himself with her. It was a sign along with her gold ring, a mark that showed she belonged to him, even in death, and he would not take it back.
Hawke's closest friends were in the very front, closest to her. Varric was there, his arm around a weeping Merrill. Isabela, having traveled to Starkhaven specifically for this, was dressed in dark colors for once. Every once in a while a tear would slip down her cheek, and she would wipe it away furiously. Fenris stood beside her, his head bowed. Aveline and Donnic were there as well. The guards-woman's face was more drawn and hopeless than any of them had seen before.
When it was time for her friends and family to speak, Sebastian remained silent. Their story was their own. It was his now, and he would keep it close to his heart and cherish it for the rest of his days.
Fenris stepped forward. "I never knew a woman like her," he told the crowd. "She was bold, and brave. I used to think every mage was a danger, a curse waiting to be inflicted upon others, but Hawke... was special. I once thought I would never be free, but this woman showed me peace. I know now she could have done anything, had she put her mind to it. She is the one who broke my chains and truly set me free."
Aveline went next, Donnic squeezing her hand reassuringly. "Hawke was the best woman I ever knew. She brought my husband and I together." She smiled sadly at her guardsman. "She was kind and just. She made people believe in her and sometimes, in themselves."
Merrill had stopped shaking enough to speak, though tears still streamed down her face like spring rain. "Hawke was my best friend. She accepted me no matter how many bad decisions I made. She kept us all safe, because we were family." Her voice cracked at the end. "She was my sister. I loved her."
Isabela opened her arms to her and Merrill ran straight into them, crying harder. Isabela shushed her, gently whispering, "Hush, kitten. It'll be alright."
The pirate had nothing to say, and neither did Carver. The Grey Warden was trying so hard to keep himself together, he couldn't bear to stand up there now.
When the dwarf stepped up, everyone went silent, waiting. Varric wiped a hand over his eyes, his brow wrinkled with sorrow, and he spoke. "Hawke was on a merchant guild hit list, once. Her uncle got into an investment scheme with a couple of merchant caste businessmen. They took a lot of people's coin in order to arrange the import of wandering hills from the Anderfels; a delicacy, I'm told."
He sighed. "Their weird, foreign foodstuffs arrived, alive, and, one of them, true to it's name, wandered off in the middle of the night. So the guild, they traced the shipments to Hawke's uncle, but he was so far in debt he couldn't see daylight. So they went after Hawke instead.
"They sent guys from the local carta to Hawke's estate one night. Five big dusters, armed to the teeth. They kick in the door, and Hawke yells, 'You're just in time!' and drags them over to a game of Wicked Grace. They played two hands of cards before the city guard showed up to take them away." Isabela gave a laugh that turned into a sob as she remembered. Aveline's lips twitched in an almost-smile at the memory.
"A couple of them became regulars in our weekly game," he continued. "Hawke just... had that effect on people." He heaved a shuddering breath. "I've always wanted to tell that one."
"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal." ― Richard Puz
Before her friends left Starkhaven once more, for good this time, Bodahn stopped them all, a water-stained letter in his trembling hands.
"I found this in my things. She must have snuck it there before she..." he trailed off, not wanting to finish. He handed it to Sebastian and turned away. "It's for you all."
Sebastian found himself ripping it open, his eyes running over the familiar scrawl. The note at the top told him to read it aloud, so he did; his voice far-away sounding to his own ears.
"To everyone, when I pass."
Everyone held their breath.
"First, Varric: I'm glad I got to see you before I left. I swear, you were my best friend the moment I saw you. If you hadn't been there for me in Kirkwall, I don't know what I would have done. I owe you so much. Make sure you take care of Bianca- I don't know what you'd do without her. I leave to you all my cards, my trophies, and every last one of my most interesting stories. I know you'll tell them well."
Varric sighed, his eyes puffy and red. "Shit. Damnit, Hawke."
"To Isabela, my dusky goddess:" Said 'dusky goddess' snorted at the name. "You, my Rivaini lady, truly saved my backside in that fight against the Qunari. You didn't have to come back, but you did. You'll always be my favorite pirate. I leave you half of the funds I left behind, and you may take your pick of my jewelry; all except the amethyst around my neck."
She buried her face in her hands. "Andraste's... sodding... granny pants," she bit out.
"Fenris: I'm grateful for everything you've done for me. Me, a mage. You've been so kind to me. You stood by me, no matter what. I am so honored that you called me your friend. I leave you my remaining funds and the stamina draughts I made for you. They're in a cabinet in the kitchen."
Fenris didn't look up. Sebastian wouldn't have been surprised if he didn't even hear.
"Merrill: I know you've had it hard. Ever since you met me, you've had it hard. You've been such a dear friend to me; it's the least I can do to give you your pick of my clothes and the estate in Kirkwall. Unless Carver wants it; in which case, you could share."
Her large eyes widened in disbelief and she glanced back at Carver.
"Carver: to you, I leave everything of mother and father's. Keep them safe. Be a good man, okay? Or maybe I'll be waiting in the Fade to give you a good finger-wagging."
Carver hadn't moved from where he'd frozen, his gaze locked on the floor. Merrill touched his arm and that seemed to break him out of his thoughts. She wrapped her tiny arms around him, and slowly, he returned the embrace.
"Aveline and Donnic: be good, you two lovebirds. I know you'll be the best guardspeople ever!"
Uncharacteristically, Aveline buried her face in Donnic's chest, her shoulders shaking.
"To the mightiest warhound to ever walk the Free Marches,"
Max lifted his sad, intelligent eyes and stood obediently.
"You are the most faithful, most lovable, most slobbering companion anyone could ask for. I'm sorry, Maxie. I've left you a dozen double-baked mabari crunches in the kitchen."
Max howled mournfully.
"And Sebastian," he paused for a moment, cleared his throat, then continued. "There are no words for how much I love you. It breaks my heart to know I've left you. You deserved better."
He wanted to stop, to tell her no, he couldn't ever have deserved more than her. But she was gone.
"You stayed with me through everything. You took care of me, even though I kept sneaking out and starting pub brawls. I was stubborn and inconvenient, but you were always there for me. I had a twisted, broken heart long before I met you. I wasn't whole. I didn't think I could heal from all the losses I suffered. My father, then Bethany, then my mother, and then Anders..." The ink there was smudged from her tears, the letters more sloppy. He would swear he could almost hear her voice... cracking, thick with tears... "But you touched my heart the from the moment I saw you, my prince in shining white armor. You took my heart in your hands, and somehow, you healed that piece of me which I thought long since dead. You are my first, last, and only love.
"I leave to you every bit of love I could ever give. You may have anything of mine that you like, be it great or small. I want to be buried in Starkhaven. I lived in Ferelden and Kirkwall for many years, but Starkhaven is my home. I want to stay here. Now, I go with the Maker.
"I've been praying, you know. I've been selfishly praying that He doesn't damn me to the Void and instead takes me to His side, where I know you'll be eventually. If he has mercy on me, that's where I'll be. That is where I'll stay, waiting for you. I'll love you until the end of time, a chroí. I will always be yours."
"I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge. That myth is more potent than history. That dreams are more powerful than facts. That hope always triumphs over experience. That laughter is the only cure for grief. And I believe that love is stronger than death." ―Robert Fulghum
Everyone left, and Sebastian was alone; purposeless.
She was buried that evening. Still wearing his necklace, chained securely around her neck.
She was gone.
They asked Sebastian and the rest of her friends what they should put on her tombstone; they all agreed before Sebastian could even think about it.
Elisabeth Leandra Vael
Champion of Kirkwall
Beloved wife and friend.
He might have smiled, had he been able.
But he was just so angry, at himself and for a moment, at the Maker Himself. He was confused; he didn't know where to go after her death. He was hurt and lost, unable to function without her there to order him around.
He left her house after a week, no true destination in mind. He couldn't stay in her house, not with memories of her in every room, her scent clinging to the sheets, a part of her in every corner and chair and book. He would wake up crying and reaching out for her, he would think he could see her disappear around the corner, he would hear her laughter echo through the halls... and he couldn't do it.
He took nothing but his armor, his grandfather's bow, and Hawke's small red scarf, the one she'd always worn with her armor, tied around his wrist. And with them he left; and he didn't realize it immediately, but Max followed him. After losing his mistress, the hound was as lost as he was, but he chose Sebastian. He was as loyal to the prince as he had been to Hawke. Together, they drifted. They wandered.
But the shadows of her remained.
He wanted to scream, to tear out his hair and stomp the ground and curse the Maker for taking the one woman he had ever loved. But he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to be angry; all he could feel now was this deep, tearing grief.
He felt old, weary; he felt like he didn't have the energy for anything anymore.
But after wandering for a time, he couldn't help but end up where it had all began: in a Chantry. He went straight into the confessional, and he told the sister inside everything. He told her of Hawke's battles in Kirkwall, of her rescues, of her parties, of her friends, every last crazy one of them. He told of her mother, of her brother, and of her sister that he had never known. He told of his remorse at not knowing sooner.
He only left out a few things, like the way her cheeks flushed when he kissed her, the way her eyes darkened in the heat of her passion; or how her head flew back on the pillows, her lips parting, and her body arched like a bow when he entered her; or how she cried out his name like a prayer when she came shattering apart.
He told the sister he was sorry that he didn't care he had broken his vows with her, and he was ashamed that he took out his anger on the Maker. After all, the Maker was the one who led her to him.
He told of how he wished he could have told her that he had always loved her, that he always will, how he will never forget her or the time they shared together. He wouldn't trade it for anything.
"Brother," the sister whispered to him. "From what you told me, I believe she already knows."
"Though lovers be lost, love shall not; And death shall have no dominion." ― Dylan Thomas
Thank you for reading.
~Chris