The Rogue's Conquest
Chapter Twelve"It doesn't look like much of a turn out tonight Mistress," said François Xavier sadly, to Marian. " Minuscule, it is, terribly minuscule. Maybe the taproom will fill out once the snow doesn't lay so thick on the ground." He rested his fiddle across his knee and reached for his tankard filled to the top with 'Oghern's special brew.' Ale from her cousin's long time friend and Dwarven companion, who insisted Marian keep the rancid stuff on tap, though she'd not an idea how François, or anyone for that matter drank the foul brew. It could strip paint right off the walls, Literally! She'd used it as a beloved ally when she'd been redecorating the Rose.
Following the fiddler's crestfallen gaze, over the rim of his tankard to the small, tin cup beside him on the bench, Marian couldn't help but sigh. One sovereign, three silvers and a single bit wasn't nearly payment enough for a fiddler as accomplished as François, even on a Thursday, in the middle of December. And the near empty tavern angered her.
"It's no fault of the snow, François, and you know that," she countered miserably. "Most nights the snow's good for business. If a man is forced to spend an entire day in his home huddled around his fire, by nightfall he'll find any excuse to leave it. Nay, I lay all the blame at the Divine's slippered feet and the feet of her prettily armored lap dogs! May the black void take them all for ruining my trade!" She sighed again, rubbing the bridge of her nose, her frustration masking her deeper worries and fears. Between the snow and the Templars surrounding the tavern, she hadn't been able to slip away to see Nova again, and though she'd sent little notes and sweet candies – including the double choco chip cookie Dallas had impulsively slipped into her palm at the market square – it wasn't the same as holding her daughter in her arms, or hearing her infectious laughter waft through the inn.
Marian constantly reminded herself over and over how this was for the best, that despite Gabriel's threat, Nova was safer with her cousin than she ever would be in town. But still, she found herself dwelling over the little notes Nova would write in return, each of them ending in a plea to come home. And it hadn't been hard to guess that the rippled, blotches in the paper were made by the girl's precious tears. By the Gods the ones Marian shed nightly were more than a match for them.
More worrisome though, was the fact that Nova hadn't been the only one missing from her life. She had neither seen, nor heard from Gabriel Vael since their meeting in the market. Not that she'd have any news to share with him, since his brother had seemed to disappear, as well. It wasn't that Sebastian had changed his living quarters. Far from it! She would sometimes overhear his silken brogue through the walls, while he gave orders to his young Corporal as they left in the morning. And at night she could identify his heavy footfalls on the stairs, when he returned late. But, where as before she couldn't seem to shake the man, now she couldn't seem to catch him. He hadn't even contrived an excuse for them to meet passing in the hallway. She told herself that she was relieved for that, but knew it was a lie. If it had been the truth, she wouldn't need to constantly convince herself how happy she was to be rid of his company. Shuttering her thoughts closed with great difficulty, Marian forced herself to count the handful of guests tonight; instead of the number of times Sebastian Vael hadn't been smiling her way.
An even dozen, that was all. Before the Templars had landed her taproom would have been filled to overflowing with lords and ladies, drinking, smoking, laughing and dining, arguing politics and banging their tankards to François's fiddle. There would've undoubtedly been a private supper in the back dining room and another party in the cards room. Gentlemen would be gathered in the billiards room playing on the table she'd imported special from Nevarra.
Marian knew well how to cater to the tastes of the gentry in Kirkwall, whether it was Orleasian wines, or Antivan smoke. But such wants were expensive, and for her to turn her usual profit required a balancing act between her creditors and patrons, with great delicacy even in the best of time. Now, only fourteen days after the Templars had docked, the Rose's best upstairs chambers were empty and the candles in the card room unlit, and here in the taproom only a dozen men gathered to sip their drink. Many of her best customers, like Gabriel Vael, had been forced into hiding like common thieves, from the Chantry's dogs. While more and more, of the city's other citizens packed their families into carts heading for Antiva, Nevarra and even Tevinter. And the ones who still stuck around Kirkwall, simply preferred to stay home, in favor of not being questioned by the white, armored guards, in front of the Rose's grand doors.
Gabriel had once said, he and the rebels hoped to have the Templars turned back to Orlais by Solstice eve. Marian now prayed he was right. For if he was wrong, she wouldn't be able to keep the Rose from sinking. Rubbing her arms vigorously from the chill not even the warmth from the roaring hearth could diminish, Marian looked back to the old fiddler. "You needn't worry about that shameful wage as your evening's toil. I'll make up the difference myself Frankie." Francois frowned up into Marian's face, his salt and pepper brows drawing together in a single line, as he clicked his tongue.
"Nay, Mistress, I can't allow you to do that. You said yourself this is the Divine's fault. She's the one who should be paying my fee, not your own dear pocket. Wrinkling her nose, Marian snickered lightly.
"Frankie if you can get the Divine to pay your fee, I'll give you the Rose and worship you, sir, as a God!" She said patting his thin shoulder. "Until then though, leave it to me, to make up your loss, and in return play me a set of jigs the more merry the better." The little man smiled with such open devotion for her, that Marian couldn't help but smile back with open sincerity. Like Orana with her cooking, François too could go anywhere and find work with his fiddle, and endless memory for tunes. But the man, much like Orana would stay with Marian now, and even later when she couldn't afford to be as generous as she was tonight.
"Jigs it be, mum," he said, rubbing the rosin on his bow. "For you and no other."
She dipped him a small curtsy, to honor his loyalty, kissing his time worn cheek before she went to greet the new customer she heard at the door in the hall. With great care she kept a smile plastered on her face, though she was horrified by the quick glimpse she'd caught of herself in the looking glass over the hearth. Surely the circles beneath her eyes were a false trick of the candlelight. How could she expect to offer the people of Kirkwall a safe haven from their worries, when she herself looked so worn and fearful? Well least Jean-Luc's gown looks exquisite. She thought bitterly, though she doubted very much that she was doing it justice.
"A good evening to you, serha," she called cheerfully as she hurried to the hall, her arms extended in greeting. The man remained hidden by the open door, while he knocked the snow from his boots against the step outside. A thoughtful gentleman, decided Marian, and one despite the hour not so far into his cups, that he'd stopped caring what happened to her floors. A gentleman indeed, one to be welcomed with pleasure! With renewed faith, Marian brightened her smile more. "A cold night it may be, serha, but here at the Rose, I can personally promise you good cheer and warm company."
"And both are precisely what I've need for Lady Hawke," Said Sebastian as he closed the door behind him. He swung his cloak from his shoulders, sprinkling snowflakes like diamonds, delivering both it and his helm, into Serendipity's waiting hands. "That and a decent fire to quell the chill in my bones."
"Knight - - Knight-Commander Vael!" To suddenly have him standing before her after days of longing and doubt, left Marian near speechless, twisting strands of her crimson hair in her fingers like a giddy schoolgirl. She had never seen him clothed so handsomely before. In place of his usual bone armor, he wore a crisp white dress uniform, his white coat heavy with gold embroidery, badges of honor and prestige lining his left breast pocket. The hanks of honey-brown hair that usually laid about his face, were now pulled back into tight, plaited braids on either side of his head, pulled together with a piece of golden thread, the style very reminiscent of Viking warlords from the past. Like this, Sebastian Vael was simply breathtaking.
"Your servant ma'am." He bowed neatly from the waist, while he motioned toward the taproom. "A warm cup of spiced cider, please Ma'am, before I retire to my room for the evening. That and a taste of this generous company you promise."
"Knight-Commander wait, please, wait a moment!" began Marian anxiously. "That is, you cannot – I cannot-" But he had already brushed by her, leaving her to chase after him, hands fisted in the sides of her sapphire dress so as not to trip on it's hem. "Knight-Commander please!"
He stopped at the fireplace and turned, gracing her with a wide smile. All the while he ignored the hostile stares of the others around them, and the way François's fiddle squeaked to a halt.
"A mug of your famed spiced cider, Lady Hawke," he ordered walking toward the bar where Jethann filled in as the Rose's barkeep. "In a tavern as highly recommended as yours, I assume the cider shall be very fine indeed."
Marian stood in front of him, her hands clasped stiffly before her, while Jethann looked to her for orders. Though Sebastian might've been unaware of the resentment and outright hatred that flowed from the others, Marian certainly wasn't, in fact she felt it so acutely it was painful. What in the void are you doing Vael?
"Knight-Commander Vael," she pleaded again, "please, don't ask this of me."
"Oh, now I understand dear lady," he said calmly, reaching into his pocket. "I've heard this before, hard sovereign always solves it. Here I suspect this shall be sufficient."
Marian stared at the sovereign in his hand, every ounce of her willpower roping a tight hold on her urge to light his gold, covered palm ablaze. He didn't remember the last time he'd done something achingly similar. And why should he? It had meant nothing to him. But once before he had tried to set things to rights with a handful of sovereign and then, like now, he'd only succeeded in making them worse.
"It's not a question of gold, Knight-Commander, but of loyalties." Said Marian, lifting her chin slightly; while she prayed her voice wouldn't wave like a white flag. At least she knew better than to look into his eyes. Instead she kept her eyes firmly on the flames over his shoulder, which danced entrancingly in the hearth. "I can't stop you, or your men from claiming my best rooms as your quarters," she said carefully. "But even with the Divine's flags and guards standing outside my tavern doors, my place and my sympathy still lay with freedom and liberty. Call this tavern what you please – a rebel taproom, a nest of abominations – but your Orleasian coin is not welcome here, sir, nor are you. Now I wish you a good night, Commander." Marian stood very still, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. She couldn't have made her feelings anymore clear, and she knew her words would be repeated a hundred and one times before breakfast. She hoped for both her and Nova's sake they'd reach Gabriel's ears too…But, why, wasn't Sebastian leaving?
Instead, he rested one hand on the hilt of his dress sword, tossing the sovereign in the other so that they chimed loudly through the quite taproom. His smile remained, but were it had once been easy charm, it was now guarded and faked. "So Lady Hawke," he said softly. "Because of my uniform you refuse to serve me?"
"Yes," She said simply emboldened now, her voice barely shaking. This whole scene, this whole conversation, seemed unreal. As if they'd stepped into a play, Varric had written for her customers' amusement.
"And it's fair to say then, Lady Hawke, you wouldn't be willing to drink with me?" Dumbfounded by the invitation to drink with him, Marian folded her arms defensively over her chest, pinning him with a sharp angry glance.
"No, serha, I most certainly will not."
"Ah." He slipped the coins back into his pocket. "A pity, Lady Hawke. Your spiced cider would've made our conversation far more agreeable I think."
"Conversation, Knight-Commander?" she ask warily, not sure where he was going with his display. "To my knowledge, there's nothing more between us to be discussed."
"Oh yes ma'am, I fear there is." Slowly, with the grace of a jungle cat, he moved across the room, his heavy footsteps clanking hard upon the floorboards, until he stood nearly nose, too, nose with her.
Too close, far too close! Her frantic mind whispered. She fought the urge to back away and put more distance between them. To back away now would acknowledge that he was right when he was so clearly wrong, before the very people she had, had to fight to gain the respect of in the first place. She refused to be intimidated.
"I believe it's high time we discuss the truth about Gabriel Vael, and know that YOUR freedom ma'am lies in the answers I receive from you." Marian felt her expression falter, her bold façade falling away so quickly she couldn't stop it. She hadn't expected this from him, not in the slightest, though it seemed crudely obvious now that he'd planned to confront her about Gabe, the moment he entered the tavern. He likely hadn't expected her to serve him. His order for cider a clever way of throwing her off her guard. And by the Gods it had worked, she couldn't deny that.
"Gabriel Vael," she repeated slowly, unsure what to say. For all Marian knew he could be bluffing. Aye that has to be it! She thought with certainty her calm returning. "Why do you ask me of serha Vael? He and his family are well known around these parts that's true. But what I can personally tell you of the man?" Marian mused, pushing her index finger into her own chest. "Is very little indeed."
"Indeed?" drawled Sebastian, skepticism practically dripping from the single word. "I believe your being too modest Lady Hawke. I've heard you keep much closer company with Gabriel than that. So close, that when he comes looking for you, he prefers to use your kitchen door. Maybe it's just me, but that seems like familiarity only held between old acquaintances."
"Old acquaintance, or mere convenience, Knight-Commander?" Her attempt at a laugh was brittle. Gods help her he may know everything. With his face so stoic, she simply couldn't tell. "The Rose's kitchen door is often used by guests who bring their horses to Cricket in the stable. If I recall correctly serha, you, yourself have used the luxury of the kitchen door."
"Aye, except you forget, that Gabriel is particularly mistrustful of horses," countered Sebastian. "Stables hold few interests for him. But your kitchen ma'am and your famed hospitality, seems to be quite a different story." Marian shrugged with a nonchalance she didn't feel. If she allowed his barge of questions to continue so publicly she'd be the centerpiece of Kirkwall's gossip tree, her reputation shredded outright.
Clearing her throat and setting her shoulders back in stubborn defiance, Marian pinned him with her most fearsome gaze. "I feel sure Commander, that these people grow tired of our discussion," she said sharply, though every person's eyes and ears were riveted on them. "If they wished to listen to such tedious questioning as this, they'd go to the court house, not come to the Rose."
"Truly Mistress, you broke the mold for perfect hostess, always keeping an eye toward your patrons welfare!" He smiled, though for the first time his merriment didn't touch his eyes. "Another room then Lady Hawke, if it pleases you?" It didn't please her, not in the least, but she couldn't see another way around it, for it pleased her even less to be grilled in front of her people so openly.
"Very well Knight-Commander," she said, with a slight nod of her head. "I suggest we retreat to the kitchen since Orana is out tonight, and leave these gents to their pleasures."
Stepping gracefully to the side, she waved a hand toward the far door, which marked the kitchen. Sebastian bowed his head signaling his agreement, and waited for her to lead the way. As prettily done as any ballroom waltz, Marian thought miserably, as if they'd been long time partners in the sacred dance.
He could talk all he wanted about fearing this and that, but the facts were she was the most frightened in this moment, than she'd ever been in her life. She couldn't just blast him away with a snowstorm as she would an ogre. Nay, she'd need level headed finesse that she unfortunately, could never seem to keep around him. Forcing a smile to her face she twitched her sapphire skirt toward François in a signal to resume the music before heading to the kitchen, Sebastian right on her heels so close she thought she could feel his breath at her neck.
7-7-7
Sebastian watched her walk in front of him, across the taproom to the empty kitchen pausing only to light the candles in the dark room with little sparks of magic. When he'd watched her fawn over the sapphire number in the market he'd known she'd look amazing in it, though the woman could wear a paper bag, and still look phenomenal. The cut of the dress, showed expansive amounts, of her tanned shoulder blades and ample chest, while the tightly cinched, sapphire bodice emphasized the generous curve of her backside, than flared out and down, in pretty waves to the floor. A pair of golden stiletto heels, small, blue diamond earrings and her heart shaped locket - she never seemed to be without – were her only accessories. The entire effect was elegant and costly, fit for a lady of Orlais, or royalty even.
Sebastian would have told her how she took his breath away this evening, if she'd been in any mood to listen to his compliments. But he wasn't foolish, he knew better than to say a word by simply watching the straight, unyielding line of her back. He guessed with an inward sigh, that she was likely very angry with him. Whether that anger was about to spill into unhinged, fireball throwing fury, he guessed he'd soon be finding out.
She knelt stiffly, using another tiny spark of magic, to relight the kitchen hearth, while he silently shut the door behind him. Standing she brushed her skirt, before squaring her shoulders and sighing lightly, a sound that could have been either an annoyed grumble, or nervous gulp, before she tuned toward him.
"Here we are Knight-Commanders," she purred. " I do believe you wished to interrogate me, have at me serha!" He couldn't help cringing at her words.
"Interrogate is too strong a word, Mari. I only want to ask you a question, or two regarding my brother, that's all."
"That's all! " She cried, a little hysterical, taking him by surprise. "You call me out in front of my customers. Then you imply improprieties between your brother and I. Implications serha that could ruin my grand reputation, and then you have the audacity to tell me 'that is all!'"
"Mari there was no other way-"
"A gentleman would have found one Sebastian!"
"Then a gentleman, would have immediately made you an outcast in your city," Sebastian growled, tired of dancing these circles with her. "You worry about what people will say of you now, but what would have people whispered instead, if you'd come here with me directly, without having a chance to make your rebel speech?"
"That wouldn't have happened!"
"Oh come off it, Mari, that's bullshit and you know it," he continued relentlessly, wincing slightly at the tone he took with her. "What would the girl who took my cloak and helm, tell her mother, who would than tell her sister, and so on, until all of Kirkwall knew? Damn it woman, at least this way you're allied with my brother, a position seemingly more popular in this city, than being a mage, loyal to a Templar Officer. And you've also been able to make your blasted rebel beliefs as well-known as if you'd shouted them from your highest window!"
7-7-7
With her head bowed, Marian sagged dejectedly, back against the hearths mantelpiece. He was right damn him. He always was. Damn him!
"I tell you, Mari, that I-"
"No," she said her voice strained. "You must not call me that again. I gave you my leave, I know, but it wasn't right of me to do. I am your enemy and we must never forget that."
"And I, Mistress? What am I?" Troubled, she looked up at him through the sweep of her lashes, her chin tucked low. In the hearths light his eyes were shadowed, unreadable, above the firm, fierce curve of his lips, yet still she felt the spell of attraction pulling them closer. What was he to her? The most beautiful man she'd ever known, pleasure and pain, temptation and ruin in one undeniably perfect package. And despite the awful, sorrowful price she'd paid, for her desire for him once before, she still wanted to be here with him, to hear him say her name in his sultry voice, the way only he could.
But what you want doesn't matter anymore Mari- and that was fact, for the only one that mattered now was Nova.
"You," she whispered. "You are my enemy."
"Yer' enemy, mum, yer' ENEMY!" he growled brokenly, his brogue breaking through the Orlesian/Ferelden one he'd come to Kirkwall with and the only hint to what would come next. Fast as lightening and twice as frightening, he lashed out against the oak table beside him, sending the pottery and china crashing to the floor with a great sweep of his massive arm, swinging back to face her, his eyes as wild and feral as his sudden temper.
"Knight-Commander Vael, please-"
"Nay, Mistress Hawke ye' will listen!" he ordered. "Tonight ah' dined with the Knight-Vigilant an' mah' fella' officers, men Ah' considered as dear an' honorable as brothers. Yet the table with which we dined upon belongs - belonged tae' mah' mammy, the china that bore our meal was marked with mah' family's crest. An' when we drank tae' the Divine's health, the glasses were filled with cider from mah' brother's cellar. Ah' may be yer' enemy, ma'am, but it appears ah' am mah' own as well."
Marian swallowed hard in attempt to force down the dry lump in her throat, searching his face. Part of her said she should be afraid, that she should leave him now before his temper and frustration were turned toward her instead of her china. But she wasn't, at least not of us temper.
"But it was your choice, wasn't it?" she asked gently not wanting to scratch the beast she could see him trying so desperately to control. "No one forced you to become an officer of the Divine."
7-7-7
He came to stand beside her, resting his hands on the mantelpiece as he stared down into the flame she'd created. Trying to calm himself, so his words wouldn't sound as foreign and broken as they must have, he'd trained himself to sound less Starkhaven, more Orlesian while living in Orlais, but every so often when his emotions got the better of him, his brogue came out. He hated losing his temper, especially before her. Such outbursts were shameful, unworthy of a Knight-Commander. "Nay' dear lady, Ah' paid quite dearly fer' the privilege tae' stand by the Divine's side, with the mark of Andraste on mah' belt." he said, attempting to sound impassive, instead of desperate. "Close tae' three thousand sovereign, if Ah' recall correctly. Nearly the amount my grandfather had left tae' me."
"Three thousand sovereign is a great deal of coin for anyone," she whispered, gently placing a small hand on top of his own. "Quite dear indeed." She'd never know how grateful he was for the gentleness in both her voice and soft touch.
"The Maker only knows now, if Ah' am enemy or savior, villain or hero, fer' Ah' fear I've lost all sense o' it myself," he said wearily. "How can Ah' know? Ah' came tae' this city, a place Ah' loved as a youth, believing Ah' could do good, serving both Maker and Divine. But instead Ah' am hated by the very people Ah' am ordered tae' protect, reviled, spat upon an' shot at by those who would have at one time smiled my way."
He turned and slowly reached out to brush curls of crimson from her cheek with the back of his hand. "Except fer' ye' lass, " he said. "Mah' dear Mari. Ye' alone have shown me kindness an' concern. Only ye' sweet lass have dared tae' judge me, nah' by my armor, but by the man that lay beneath.
7-7-7
She felt like a deer caught staring at a lantern's flame, trapped in the heat of his gaze as the warmth it brought crept across her cheeks. It wasn't mere kindness alone that had made her treat him as she had. She understood all to well the loneliness she heard sneak into his words, for she'd fallen victim to it often enough herself.
But that wasn't it either, not even close. It wasn't loneliness that made her heart race, or her body turn aching with need, nor was it loneliness that roused a memory that she'd thought long dead in the past, and forgotten. Though it was almost sure to kill her, she eased herself from his tender touch, swiftly walking to the oak table. With unsteady fingers, she proceeded to collect the shattered pieces of china from the floor, placing them in the basket from under the sink.
7-7-7
Behind Marian, Sebastian's fingers hovered uselessly in the space she'd left, still aching to touch the velvety curve of her cheek. At last he let it fall to his side awkwardly. He knew she felt the same longing he did, he had seen it in her blazing eyes. But if she was strong enough to pull away, then so was he.
"Ah'll be payin' for that," he managed to say gruffly. "Ah' insist."
"Of course you will," she replied not looking at him. "Even the Divine's elite must be held responsible for their damages." Sebastian frowned. He didn't like seeing her fuss over the mess he'd made, reminding him further of his shameful outburst.
"You ask about your brother. I have not seen him for two weeks at least, and that I swear is the truth." Sebastian hid his surprise, that she'd even be willing to say that much.
"We've heard word that he fled tae' Antiva with his children."
"Oh I do hope so!" she said sincerely. "For both his sake and the sake of his children, too, it would be the best thing possible."
"It's hard for me to imagine Gabriel with children at all," Sebastian admitted sheepishly. "Last I saw him, just before I sailed fer' Orlais, from Starkhaven, he was still trying tae' ask for the young lady's hand. Maria I believe her name was. Maria Delaphant. How many children do they have?"
"Three. Two girls and a boy." she said scooping the last bits of china into the basket she used, rubbing her hands free of the dust. "But Maria died a few years back at a Templar's hands, before the Chantry had been overthrown. I suspect you weren't told?"
Sebastian shook his head, barely able to remember the bright, merry lass who clapped her hands with delight whenever she laughed. How anyone could kill such a sweet girl - Sebastian couldn't understand.
"May Andraste keep the poor lass safe."
"Amen." Mari chimed sitting back on her hunches, looking to him over her shoulder. "Gabriel misses her sorely. First Maria's death, then the up rise and now the 'inquiry'. You would, I think find him a very changed man." Now nagged Sebastian's conscience, now was the time for him to press further and ask for names Gabriel associated with. She'd volunteered so much already, that it would seem natural for him to ask after friends that he and Gabriel had once had in common, friends that he suspected would be as deeply involved with this rebellion as Gabe himself was. Hadn't he come here tonight to learn exactly that? His duty demanded it, and Knight-Vigilant Cullen was growing impatient for something, anything to lay waste to this up rise. But instead, the man inside, had decided to settle on the swell of Marian's breasts. A sight that was mighty hard to avoid, with her still seated so gracefully on the floor in front of him. Had Gabriel done the same, and more when he beckoned at her kitchen door? Perhaps the rebellion had, had nothing to do with Gabriel's visits. A handsome widower left with three children, a pretty young widow with property of her own, it wouldn't be unheard of. What could be more natural?
Or depressing, thought Sebastian bitterly. Not that he had any right to lay claim to Marian and her affections, but the thought of his brother doing just that, left a taste of poison on his tongue. He watched her smooth a piece of rich curls behind her ear, with a flick of her small wrist, her hand trailing down to rest self-consciously on the heart-shaped locket - her talisman. Or was it a gift from a lover? Sebastian's bitter misery grew by the moment. Had his brother gifted her with it? Damnation! Why couldn't she call Gabriel her enemy in place of him?
As the awkward silence grew between them, Sebastian became acutely aware of the fiddlers upbeat song from the other room. It had been a popular tune in Starkhaven and he couldn't help but hear the racy lyrics play in his head now.
He cleared his throat. She'd probably freeze his mouth shut, but he couldn't resist the opportunity that the song offered. Anything had to be better than moping over the claim Gabriel held on the woman he wanted for himself.
"I'd bet hard sovereign, your fiddler thinks himself quite the jester.
Sebastian watched her face falter in confusion. No doubt struggling to comprehend how they'd went from discussing his brother, to her fiddler.
"François is the best fiddler in all of Thedas, but I've never considered the man particularly good with jests?" Sebastian didn't answer, waiting instead for the verse before he cleared his throat again and began to sing in a rough baritone.
The force of her magnetic pull was cruel and unusual
When she calls I wag my tail I'm harder than a coffin nail
A pilgrim on my bended knees
I'd cross the desert if it'd please you
Baby treat me, as you will. Yours to bless, yours to kill.
"Oh!" Gasped Mari indignantly, scurrying to her feet in a flurry of sapphire skirts and scarlet curls. "Oh how dare François do this to me. Well he'll soon be finding himself replaced with that Qunari that came to me just last week, with a dancing baboon, see if I don't just do it. I am a woman with which one just does not fuck!"
"Wait… Mari – Just wait!" Sebastian couldn't help the laughter that rumbled from him at her sputtering outrage. "Perhaps the poor fella plays at another's request. Tis still a fair enough tune. She glared at him, her grey eyes, flicking blue. And Sebastian thought how happy he was to not be the target of her supernatural orbs for once.
"Oh, Aye, fair enough to mock me with!" She growled baring her little, white teeth. "And if you'd stop cackling like a hyena for but a minute you'd realize that it mocks you as well! I don't even want to hazard a guess at what the rest of the horrid lyrics are. And the Gods mark my words, when I'm well and through with François he will never-"
"Stay Mari," Sebastian said, still chuckling as he gently grabbed her arm to hold her back. "I'm sure your poor fiddler means no harm."
"Oh please," she scoffed raising a shapely eyebrow at him. "The Gods only know, what becomes of that poor, wicked fool and his sinful harlot!"
"Neither of us, could possible know dear Mari," He teased. "For I am no more a poor, wicked fool, than you are, a sinful harlot." She narrowed her pretty eyes at him suspiciously.
"At least I'm no harlot, that I'm sure of." She said, but didn't attempt to pull away from him. "I however only have your word to assure me, you're not a poor, wicked fool. Emphasis on wicked, Vael." Loosening his grasp on her arm, Sebastian gently turned it over exposing her inner forearm. With the lightest touch, he feathered his index finger from the start of her small wrist, tracing it upwards following the light blue vein beneath her silky skin, as if it was his compass. When her body went ridged under his touch, Sebastian expected she'd pull away, instead her dusky lashes swept across her high cheekbones, as her eyelids slid shut, and a sigh escaped her plumped lips. The Black Divine take his brother, Sebastian thought with an air of triumph, or at least take him as far as Antiva. For he, Sebastian Vael was the one here with Marian now, and slowly he lifted the inside of her palm to his lips.
"What greater assurance could you ask of me, " he said his lips and teeth alternating between light caresses, and jolting nibbles, "then my word as a gentleman, a Vael at that, and an officer?"
7-7-7
And your enemy! Marian's conscience screamed, but the warning was washed away as he nipped the heel of her palm. She shivered with the unexpected pleasure of it. His lips brushing across the sensitive flesh; had her fingers curling into the stubble of his warm jaw. "You're more wicked than the harlot the song sings of," she murmured on a breathy sigh. "So much for your word of honor." And by the Gods he did look wicked, thoroughly, unapologetically wicked, as he looked up at her from beneath his brows and slowly smiled. She'd never noticed before that when he smiled, a single dimple creased the right side of his mouth, like a little bracket for his smile. By firelight his eyes were a richer turquoise and his hair a burnished bronze. The little hawk pendent he wore, her hawk pendent, swung back and forth on the chain around his neck,rapping lightly on her wrist.
"I've missed you Marian Hawke," He whispered a dark, sensual whisper for her ears alone, as he glided her backward, stopping when her shoulders met the wall and her chest met his. "Though Maker knows, for both our sakes, I've tried to keep away." She swallowed hard knowing all too well the path this interlude would lead down. But she couldn't stop it. Marian Hawke had blasted a high dragon, or two into eternity, had earned the respect of, and then taken down a Qunari Arishok, and in her free time she killed mercs. But pulling away from Sebastian Vael? Impossible, she simply wasn't strong enough.
"But here you are." She mewled, her body aching from the tangible need they both emitted.
"And so," he murmured as he lowered his face, "it seems, are you." The next instant, Marian felt the first touch of his lips, and with a little whimper she closed her eyes and gave herself over to him. In a single moment eleven years fell away. The gentle, but demanding pressure of his kiss and fiery heat of it, was everything she remembered, and much, much more, for her memory had never been able to recapture the spellbinding, pleasure that he alone had brought her.
One kiss, she told herself, this single kiss, was all she would allow herself. One bittersweet temptation, to make up for the long years of loveless tumbles and consuming hardships. One kiss, to let herself pretend she was seventeen again, with the entire world and its promise still waiting to greet her. One kiss, she told herself, swaying against Sebastian opening her mouth to his, battling his tongue with the tricks she hadn't known on their first meeting, amongst the hay.
But it wasn't simply her mouth she opened to him, for she feared, as there tongues danced, that her soul had emerged from ashes to meet him once more. Foolish Mari. Is very foolish!
One kiss…
"Marian?"
Slowly she opened her eyes, bewildered and a tad peeved. Why would he pull away, what could possible make him want to stop the electric heat between them?
"Marian, look at me." He said with a bewilderment that matched her own. "How is it… I don't know…Marian? I don't know how it's possible, but it must be so."
She watched his brows draw together in a single line as he searched her face. The first wisp of fear at what he might find began to curl into Marian's racing heart. She tried to ease herself free, but he held her too tightly by the shoulders for any grand escape to take place.
"You make no sense Sebastian," she laughed nervously. "I should be returning to my guests, and you to your men." He shook his head, refusing to let her shake his attentions.
"Years ago, the night before I sailed for Starkhaven, I met a lass, in Redcliffe a tavern."
"You – you are mistaken, serha." Marian jerked free, her stomach roiling with fearful butterflies. "Too many years have passed for you to be so certain."
"But I am Mari." He pushed, relentlessly, following her around the kitchen, reaching for her hand, as he reached for the past. "A little serving girl afraid of her own shadow, and still completely oblivious of what her pretty face could do to a man. A sweet little thing with silver-blue eyes, a kiss that tasted as sweet as a spring peach, and lips as soft as velvet."
"No!" Marian growled, backing away from him, searching wildly for the door. "No, you're-"
"Yes, Mari," he said softly. "Because you are that lass."
On a strangled sob, she turned and fled.