Where Duty Lies: Chapter 14 - Letters
Title: Letters
Rating: T for mild language in this chapter, M overall
Author: basbaker
Word Count: 5217
“Well, Your Highness, how are you feeling?”
Lord Geoffrey Windborne was a jovial looking man well into his fifties. Never having been called on to fight outside of a trade negotiation, he did not have a battle-hardened look to him. To Sebastian's eyes, he actually looked a bit soft. His thick white hair was curled and oiled and his skin scented. He dressed in the finest wools and gem-studded brocades and the jewelry he chose was usually ostentatious. Undeniably elegant, he was also the soul of courtesy and had a shrewd mind. He was second in power only to the High Chancellor, and he knew his worth. Sebastian could not make up his mind whether or not he liked the man, but he was an old friend of his father's, so the prince was willing to keep an open mind.
“Call me Sebastian. I must thank you, sir, for your excellent care of me. I feel very well, but I understand that I was in pretty bad shape when I was brought to you.”
Lord Windborne waved a hand dismissively, gold and sapphires winking. “I won't hear it. It is my honor to have been of service. My daughter tells me that you make a terrible patient though,” he smiled, amber eyes crinkling at the corners.
“I do owe her an apology,” Sebastian admitted, chagrined. “But I can't stand just sitting in bed, doing nothing. Grand Cleric Elthina says that I'm too impetuous for my own good. Your daughter disagrees. She said that I'm too thick-headed to know what is good for me. I've been rather short with her, I'm afraid.”
Windborne chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, that's my Genie for you. Don't apologize to her. It will only encourage her. And I ought to know. Ever since her mother passed, she's taken over the responsibility of keeping me in line.”
“I'm sorry. I didn't realize that you had lost your wife.”
“It was almost two years ago that the fever took her. With everything that has happened to you, I would never expect you to keep up with news of your father's old friends.” His smile was touched with sadness. “Genie and I manage very well together. But I'm not as young as I used to be. It is high time she began looking for a suitable husband instead of taking care of an old man and his household.”
“She ought to have no trouble there, sir,” Sebastian cut in quickly, determined to change the course of the conversation. There was something in the way that Lord Windborne spoke of his daughter marrying that made him uncomfortable. “I'm quite certain that having me on her hands to tend to is making me no shortage of enemies among her suitors. But hopefully it won't persist for much longer.
“What I would really like to talk about is the reason you asked me here.”
“And we will. But Genie has insisted that nothing should be allowed to upset you until she's satisfied that you are sufficiently recovered,” he smiled ruefully. “Since I have to live with her, I will respect her wishes.”
“I'm no longer in any danger, thanks to you and the lady Genevieve. Surely you can tell me something.”
“Father, you promised,” Genevieve reminded Lord Windborne.
About to respond to Sebastian, he gave a guilty start. Neither of the men had heard her enter. She carried the small bundle of items she had brought with her over to the bedside table and set them down, then favored her father and her patient with an accusing look.
“He's broken no promises, my lady,” Sebastian said quickly. “I'm the one who raised the matter.”
“A good thing then that I have asked the healer to come by in the morning,” she said mildly. “He is the one who insisted to me that you should not be upset while you recover. After he's seen you, if he is happy with your progress, you may become as agitated as you like. But not today.”
Sebastian's smile was wry. “Since I owe the two of you my life, I suppose I will consider having to wait another lesson in patience from the Maker.”
“Another? How many lessons have you had?”
“I've lost count.”
Genevieve smiled at him then, her expression so engaging that he found himself smiling back. Lord Windborne looked between the two of them, then got easily to his feet.
“Well, now that you're here, my girl, I can attend to some things.”
“Of course, Father.”
She moved at once to his side, lifting on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Sebastian smiled at the genuine affection in the look that the two of them shared. His brothers had often received just such a look from their parents. He recognized it even if he couldn't remember the last time he had seen the same, except from Elthina.
“My Genie looks lovely today, doesn't she, Sebastian?” Lord Windborne prompted, none too subtly.
“Father, really,” she blushed, smoothing a hand unconsciously over her skirts. She was dressed in a fashionable, rose colored gown. It was becomingly modest but still managed to show her figure to advantage. Her golden hair was caught up in a neat chignon, tendrils left to curl charmingly at either temple. While she was not so ostentatiously dressed as her father, she gave the same impression of wealth and elegance.
“Indeed she does, sir,” he agreed at once. Manners dictated his response, but it was nonetheless sincere. Genevieve flashed him a grateful look, making him realize that she was just as embarrassed by her father's overt machinations as he was. His expression warmed.
Lord Windborne looked quite pleased with himself. “Of course she does. Now I really must go, but I leave you in good hands. I will be in my study if you need me, my girl.”
After he had let himself out of the room, Sebastian and Genevieve shared a laughing look. “You'll have to forgive my father,” she said without preamble. “He has all the subtlety of a hammer.”
Sebastian chuckled. “No offense taken. I should be flattered that he would consider me suitable. He obviously cares for you a great deal.”
“Suitable? How could you not be? You're Prince of Starkhaven. You must have the daughters of noble houses thrown at you daily.”
“If that were an everyday occurrence, I don't know whether I would consider it a blessing or a curse,” he quipped, but then sobered. “But I'm not at all suitable. Your father must not be aware of the vows I've sworn. I was affirmed a little more than a year ago. I've pledged my life to Andraste and the Maker.”
“There have been rumors,” she admitted. She moved to stand beside Sebastian, urging him to sit forward while she plumped the pillows at his back. “What news we get from Kirkwall is sometimes late in coming, and not all of it is accurate.” She sat down next to the bed in the chair her father had just vacated. “But I guess this one was true. Poor Father.”
“I'll speak to him about it at the next opportunity,” Sebastian promised gently. “I've no wish for you to be distressed when there is no need.”
“Oh, I'm not distressed by it,” Genevieve smiled, calm. “I rather thought that if the rumors were false, you've already chosen a mate.”
“Maker's breath, no! What in the world would make you think that?”
Genevieve's gaze, usually direct, faltered. She toyed with the edge of the coverlet. “Your fever-dreams. You called out often for someone named Hawke. I thought perhaps she was special to you.” She darted a swift look up, surprising the arrested expression on the prince's face. Shrewdly assessing it, she nodded. “I thought so.”
“No, you're wrong,” Sebastian heard himself say, surprised by how much regret the words brought him. “She is special to me, but not in the way you're thinking. She's a close friend, someone I respect and admire greatly.”
“But you wish she could be more?”
“She knows that I intend to remain in the Chantry,” he dodged. “There is no question of more.”
Genevieve had her own opinions about that, but she kept them to herself. Sebastian's expression was closed now, blue eyes pensive as he wrestled with his thoughts. Suppressing a sigh, she rose from the chair and crossed the room to pick up a lap desk and carry it back. When she set it down on top of him, Sebastian started and shot her a surprised look.
“What is this for?”
“You said earlier that you needed to write some letters.” She reached over to the bundle she had brought to the room, withdrawing parchment, ink and quills and setting them on the lap desk. Then she grabbed a book from the bedside table and smiled slightly. “Now you may.”
Nodding at his quietly spoken thanks, Genevieve moved gracefully to a chair across the room and lowered herself onto it. Without giving him another look, she opened her book to the marked page and began to read.
Sebastian knew enough about women to know that he had irritated this one, but for the life of him he couldn't think why. Her complete dismissal of him rankled, but he shrugged and set himself to the task of writing. Intending to write to Hawke first, he dipped the quill into the ink and then simply sat staring at the page. Minutes passed as he tried to decide just what to say, and finally he began to write.
Dear Jillian,
I don't know whether or not I should call you that. It struck me as I started to write this that we have known each other for nearly six months now, and never once did I ask you for your given name. Your brother was furious before when I didn't ask for your surname - please don't tell him about this additional lapse. I value my skin. In my defense, I'd never heard anyone call you anything but Hawke until your mother that morning. But as much as Hawke suits you, I think I prefer Jillian.
I owe you an apology. That morning, I called on you to tell you that I was leaving for Tantervale to visit a family friend who had news of my family's murders. But with the interruptions and what happened after I never quite managed to get around to it. By now I'm sure that you know I've left Kirkwall, but you must believe that it was never my intention to leave without talking to you about it first. I was angry, yes, but with myself. You were not to blame. Perhaps it will please you to know that the Maker saw fit to punish me in a variety of ways during my short journey, not the least of which included losing my bow.
I am staying now in the house of Lord Geoffrey Windborne and his daughter Genevieve, and my return to Kirkwall will be delayed. I was attacked on the road as I traveled here. Between the wounds and the fever, I was unconscious for several days. But everything is well, I promise you. Well, most everything. The attackers were from Flint Company. We both believed that you had killed them all, but at least three survived. There may be others and if so, you need to be careful. One of them spoke your name. If any more do survive, they are after you now as surely as they are me, if for different reasons.
I am safe here. Lord Windborne and his daughter are good people. I worry more for you. I cannot come to you yet, as much as I would like to ensure your safety, but know that you are in my thoughts and especially in my prayers. When I do return to Kirkwall, I suppose that you and I will have some things to discuss. Until then, may Andraste guide your steps.
Sebastian.
He sealed the letter and put it aside, then started on the one to Elthina. That one was much easier to write, and took only a few minutes. When that, too, was sealed and addressed, he looked up to where Genevieve still sat absorbed in her book. He cleared his throat quietly, but she did not look up. Sebastian inwardly winced. Yes, he had definitely irritated her. He tried again.
“Excuse me, Lady Genevieve.”
This time she lifted her attention from her book long enough to give him a politely indifferent look. “Yes? Did you need something?”
Putting on a smile that he knew (thanks to his misspent youth) was charming, he held up the letters. “Could I trouble you to see that these get sent to Kirkwall without delay? I would tend to it myself, but somehow I think that you would be a bit upset were I to get out of this bed just yet.”
“If you were to attempt it, I think you would find yourself flat on the floor before you got very far,” she judged, green eyes filled with smug superiority. “You are very weak.”
“Weak,” he repeated flatly.
Sebastian considered himself a reasonable man. He always tried very hard to live up to what he believed were the expectations of Andraste and the Chantry. He was kind to the Maker's creatures, great and small, and he looked for peaceful ways to settle disputes rather than resorting to anger. He strove to avoid reacting from arrogance or pride, both of which were regrettable parts of his nature. But he was not without his human failings. Being called weak by a woman the likes of Genevieve was no less an insult to him than to any other man.
His jaw set and a mutinous look entered his blue eyes, hardening them. Carefully setting aside the lap desk, Sebastian held Genevieve's gaze as he deliberately pulled the bedclothes aside. Of course, he would never have had the nerve if his hosts had not thoughtfully provided a long shirt to give him a measure of modesty. But they had, and so he had no hesitation in swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His side protested with a stab of pain, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it.
“Don't you dare get out of that bed.” Genevieve ordered. Sebastian was pleased to find that he now had her full attention. She had put her book aside and risen. Green eyes snapped with anger. “If you tear your stitches with this stupidity, I'm not going to redo them.”
“No one has asked you to, my lady,” Sebastian growled, pushing to his feet. Now both the wound in his side and his leg were making their presence felt, and he swayed a moment as a wave of dizziness washed over him. It was the first time he had been on his feet in days. He waited it out, then started determinedly toward the door. His steps were slow, but his shoulders were squared and the look that he gave her was as disdainful as any king could have made it.
Despite herself, Genevieve felt a grin stealing over her features. She walked over to him just as he put his hand on the latch of the door and plucked the letters from his grasp. “You've made your point, messer. I will see that your letters are sent.”
Satisfied, Sebastian turned without a word to go back to the bed. He stumbled and might have fallen, but Genevieve was there. She slipped an arm beneath his shoulders and they walked back over to the bed together, neither speaking. When he was settled in once more, she put her fists on her hips and looked down at him in reluctant admiration. “You are a stubborn man, Sebastian Vael. I do not envy your Hawke.” But she did.
True to her word, as soon as Genevieve left Sebastian alone, she went downstairs to find her father's steward. The steward, Marcus, was a thin, supercilious looking man of middle years. He had been with them as long as Genevieve could remember, handling their affairs. It was almost as though he was one of the family. Certainly he was one of her father's most trusted advisers. He bowed low to her when she handed over the letters, promising to have them sent at once. Able to reassure Sebastian that the task had been carried out, she returned upstairs. Marcus looked at the names scrawled in a bold hand across the folded papers and took them without delay to Lord Windborne. The next day, when the messenger finally set out on the journey to Kirkwall, only one letter from the Prince of Starkhaven rested in his pouch.
~*~
“Letter for you, Mistress Hawke!”
Bodahn stood in the main hall, waving a sealed parchment to illustrate his words. Hawke smiled and, tucking her staff into the crook of her arm, walked over to relieve him of the missive. Only a few days ago, she would have simply told him to put it in the pile with the others. But that was before she and her mother had spoken, and before she had decided to stop moping over the absence of Sebastian.
“Thank you, Bodahn. No time to read it now, but I'll take it with me.”
“As you like, messer. Where shall I tell your mother you've gone, if she asks?”
“Only to the Hanged Man. Varric promises to tell stories tonight that don't involve me, so for once I've agreed to go hear him.”
“I like the one about you and the dragon,” Bodahn said sincerely. “I would have given all the coin my boy and I brought out of the Deep Roads to see you fight her off, single-handed, with only a broken staff and your wits to keep you from her jaws. You saved every one of them, even the Grey Warden.”
Remembering the encounter with the mature dragon in the Deep Roads, Hawke smiled a little wryly. “That isn't precisely the way it happened.”
“Now now, Mistress Hawke. No need for modesty.”
Suppressing a sigh, Hawke decided to leave it be for now. “Just remember that Varric has a very active imagination, hm? If Mother asks, tell her that I should be home early.”
“Of course. Don't worry about a thing.”
Tucking the letter into her pocket, Hawke shouldered her staff and headed off toward Lowtown. Varric Tethras was a menace. He had begun embellishing his stories with so much fantasy that Hawke barely recognized them. Why couldn't he pick someone else to be his heroine? People had started looking at her as if they could not quite believe she was real when they saw her on the street, and she couldn't blame them. She was beginning to wonder herself who this Hawke person was.
She was in no danger of believing herself equal to the indomitable Hawke of Varric's tales, thanks to her other friends. While the dwarf delighted in seeing whether or not he could make her into a legend in her own time, she could always count on Aveline and Fenris at least to bring her right back down to earth. It was actually comforting to know that no matter what happened, there were some people who would always see her as just Hawke.
She couldn't help but wonder where Sebastian's opinion fit into things. More than once he had made an idle comment about her service to Kirkwall that made it sound as though he bought into some of what Varric was selling at the Hanged Man. But most times he seemed to accept her for what she was, or maybe just what he thought she was. If nothing else, their argument the morning he left had proved to her that he had been blind to a lot. But was it willful?
Maker, there I go again. Why can't I get the blighted man out of my head? Hawke kicked a rock out of her way angrily, watching it tumble and bounce down the Great Stair. She suddenly missed Carver quite sharply. If he was here, she would have someone to take all of her pent-up anger out on, and he would give back as good as he got. Fighting with her brother had been a cure to more ailments than she had ever realized until he was gone. Now the only one who would fight with her was Fenris, and it wasn't exactly the same.
As if her musings had summoned the elf, Fenris was suddenly at her side as she made her way down the long stair between Hightown and Lowtown. He had developed a very bad habit recently of just turning up out of nowhere, especially when she was out alone. He might not have actually been following her these past few days, but if not, he had an uncanny knack for finding her amid all the people of Kirkwall. She had almost convinced herself to start lying in wait for him, but why spoil his fun?
“Fenris! I was just thinking about you.”
“That would explain the scowl,” he nodded, expressionless.
“Was I scowling?”
“You weren't smiling.”
“You're one to talk.”
Fenris let that pass since there was hardly any honest argument he could make. He looked sidelong at Hawke, taking note of the way she was dressed and the staff that she carried so casually. His black brows drew together in disapproval.
“Why do you persist in carrying that staff around, in broad daylight? Don't you already give the templars reason enough to suspect you?”
“Not this again,” Hawke sighed. “Lots of people carry a staff, Fenris. I had this one made for me especially so that it would not look like a mage's staff. Notice the blade. It looks as much like a spear as anything. And what do you mean about the templars? It's not as if I'm throwing fireballs through the streets.”
“I know you are not that naïve,” he chided her quietly, and the lowered tone made his voice sound even deeper and more resonant.
Hawke looked at him sidelong. “I'm careful. With what we do, I can hardly be completely discreet,” she replied. And then her tone became cutting. “Are you worried that you're “guilty by association?” Isn't that what you told me once?”
“Why must you always goad me, Hawke?”
“Maybe because you always scold me.”
“Someone has to.”
“Oh, I see.” By now they were well into Lowtown, the Hanged Man waiting at the far end of the street they walked. “I will have to let Carver know that you took up where he left off. He should be absolutely thrilled.”
Fenris opened the door of the tavern for her, green eyes narrowed in anger behind the fall of white hair across his brow. “I am not your brother.”
Hawke paused a moment, meeting that stormy gaze without flinching. “No, you're not.” And satisfied that she had made her point, she swept past him into the tavern.
Fenris stood in the doorway, watching as she made her way through the press of familiar people, smiling brightly to friends and acquaintances when they called out greetings. Anger warred with admiration inside of him. The harder he tried to protect her from herself, the more strength she showed. It was difficult not to admire her for it, and impossible not to respect her. But trust her? No. He would never go that far. Expression stoic, he joined the group of companions at Varric's table to listen to whatever fantasies the dwarf was creating tonight.
It was much later before the common room of the Hanged Man was quiet enough to allow the companions to share any genuine conversation. Varric's stories of the Hero of Ferelden had gone over well with his audience, most of whom had been refugees of the Blight. Laughter and drinks had flowed freely through the mellow crowd and her friends had been happy just to enjoy the moment. Hawke's evening would have been one of complete contentment if it hadn't been for two things.
The first was that whenever she looked over at Fenris, he alone of the companions seemed to not be having a good time. She felt guilty for the way she had deliberately tried to anger him on the way here tonight. It was just that sometimes, she found the temptation impossible to resist. But she was sorry for it, and determined to try not to antagonize him further.
The second thing that marred her night was that Varric managed to weave her into his stories after all. Hawke had barely done more than exchange greetings with the Grey Wardens when they had passed through Lothering, but to hear Varric tell it, she was the one who alone had made it possible for them to embark on their quest to unite the nations and slay the Archdemon. It had actually made her blush in mortification.
“I can't believe you did that!” she railed at him now. “All I did was give the Wardens directions to one of the local farmsteads.”
“Now now, Hawke, there's no need to be modest,” Varric soothed her, unknowingly repeating Bodhan's words from earlier. “You helped them in their time of need. The rest of it is just details, and those are boring. I like my version better.”
“Never let it be said that the dwarf let truth become an obstacle in one of his tales,” Aveline, looking sharp in her brand new Guard Captain uniform, smiled. “But he didn't even mention that I caught a glimpse of the Hero at the camp in Ostagar.”
“Well as long as we're on the subject,” Anders said, “I know the Hero of Ferelden far better than any of you. She conscripted me, you know. We fought together many times.”
“Are you sure you know her better than any of us?” Isabela drawled.
“You certainly don't know her better than me,” Merrill suddenly piped in. She'd had just enough ale to make her forget her shyness. “She's from my clan. I grew up with her.”
They all got the rare treat then of seeing Varric struck speechless.
“Daisy!” he finally managed. “You've been holding out on me.”
“Not a'tall,” she replied, voice lilting. “You never asked.”
“Well shit,” Varric said, bested. “You're right.” He grabbed up the ale pitcher and went to sit next to Merrill. “But it's never too late to start.” After that, their heads bent together as Varric began plying her with ale and questions in equal measure.
Hawke and Isabela shared an amused look, but it was Aveline who spoke the thought on all their minds. “Merrill is going to wish tomorrow that she had stayed silent, if she remembers anything.”
“Not remembering anything tomorrow sounds like a good plan to me. Come on, Anders. Let's do some shots. And maybe, if you get me drunk enough, I'll let you show me that trick with the lightning that you used to do at the Pearl.”
Since protesting was clearly useless, Anders shrugged to the others and joined Isabela at the bar.
“She's absolutely depraved,” Aveline decided. “But at least now I can talk to the two of you without having to listen to her comments.”
Hawke and Fenris transferred their attention to Aveline as one. “Oh? What's on your mind?” Hawke asked.
“There's a new criminal element in Kirkwall,” she began quietly, her voice pitched to carry only to them. “I don't think they've been operating here long, but the frustrating thing is that the guards can find no leads on them. None at all. Either there are no witnesses or the witnesses are killed.”
Fenris spoke thoughtfully. “I have heard of a rash of thefts in Hightown in the last week or two. Are they related?”
“Yes. But it doesn't stop at petty thievery. This group seem to not care what the job is. Stealing and killing are all the same to them.”
“Mercenaries,” Hawke nodded.
“Probably. But if so, they don't seek notoriety for themselves.”
“What would you like me - us - to do about it?” Hawke shot a look to Fenris, who nodded, then back to Aveline.
“They apparently operate mostly in Hightown,” Aveline replied, gratitude in her gaze. “Since the two of you live there, I thought that perhaps you could keep an ear to the ground. Or maybe even spend a little time out at night watching for anything suspicious. And if you find any leads, bring them straight to me so that the guard can redeem ourselves. A lot of nobles are grumbling that they aren't safe even under the noses of the watch. I can't have that.”
“Of course, Aveline. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks. I owe you one.” She got to her feet and adjusted the blade that was always at her side. “I guess I'm off then. Stay out of trouble.”
“You just told me to try to find trouble.”
“You know what I mean.”
As Aveline departed, head shaking, Hawke grinned unrepentantly at the look Fenris shot her.
“I take comfort in knowing that it's not only me you needle.”
“You should actually be flattered. I like needling you more than anyone.” Following Aveline's example, Hawke got to her feet and grabbed up her staff from where it leaned against the table.
“And yet, I feel distinctly unflattered,” Fenris muttered, and as he got up to follow Hawke, he caught sight of a folded piece of parchment under the chair she had just vacated. Reaching down fluidly, he retrieved the paper and held it out to her. “You dropped this.”
“Oh, I'd forgotten about it. Thank you.” She felt a flash of irritation with herself for dismissing the letter completely. Opening it now, she scanned the few lines written there.
Messer Hawke,
Please forgive my presumption, but I don't know who else to turn to. I remember a few weeks past when you brought Leina and Sindene back to the alienage, and I thought that you might be able to help me, too. My boy Feynriel has gone missing and I fear for his safety. Please, come see me in the alienage and I will tell you everything I know. No one else will help me.
Arianni
Hawke raised serious gray eyes to Fenris.
“I think we might have to put Aveline's request on hold for a day or two.”
Rating: T for mild language in this chapter, M overall
Author: basbaker
Word Count: 5217
“Well, Your Highness, how are you feeling?”
Lord Geoffrey Windborne was a jovial looking man well into his fifties. Never having been called on to fight outside of a trade negotiation, he did not have a battle-hardened look to him. To Sebastian's eyes, he actually looked a bit soft. His thick white hair was curled and oiled and his skin scented. He dressed in the finest wools and gem-studded brocades and the jewelry he chose was usually ostentatious. Undeniably elegant, he was also the soul of courtesy and had a shrewd mind. He was second in power only to the High Chancellor, and he knew his worth. Sebastian could not make up his mind whether or not he liked the man, but he was an old friend of his father's, so the prince was willing to keep an open mind.
“Call me Sebastian. I must thank you, sir, for your excellent care of me. I feel very well, but I understand that I was in pretty bad shape when I was brought to you.”
Lord Windborne waved a hand dismissively, gold and sapphires winking. “I won't hear it. It is my honor to have been of service. My daughter tells me that you make a terrible patient though,” he smiled, amber eyes crinkling at the corners.
“I do owe her an apology,” Sebastian admitted, chagrined. “But I can't stand just sitting in bed, doing nothing. Grand Cleric Elthina says that I'm too impetuous for my own good. Your daughter disagrees. She said that I'm too thick-headed to know what is good for me. I've been rather short with her, I'm afraid.”
Windborne chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, that's my Genie for you. Don't apologize to her. It will only encourage her. And I ought to know. Ever since her mother passed, she's taken over the responsibility of keeping me in line.”
“I'm sorry. I didn't realize that you had lost your wife.”
“It was almost two years ago that the fever took her. With everything that has happened to you, I would never expect you to keep up with news of your father's old friends.” His smile was touched with sadness. “Genie and I manage very well together. But I'm not as young as I used to be. It is high time she began looking for a suitable husband instead of taking care of an old man and his household.”
“She ought to have no trouble there, sir,” Sebastian cut in quickly, determined to change the course of the conversation. There was something in the way that Lord Windborne spoke of his daughter marrying that made him uncomfortable. “I'm quite certain that having me on her hands to tend to is making me no shortage of enemies among her suitors. But hopefully it won't persist for much longer.
“What I would really like to talk about is the reason you asked me here.”
“And we will. But Genie has insisted that nothing should be allowed to upset you until she's satisfied that you are sufficiently recovered,” he smiled ruefully. “Since I have to live with her, I will respect her wishes.”
“I'm no longer in any danger, thanks to you and the lady Genevieve. Surely you can tell me something.”
“Father, you promised,” Genevieve reminded Lord Windborne.
About to respond to Sebastian, he gave a guilty start. Neither of the men had heard her enter. She carried the small bundle of items she had brought with her over to the bedside table and set them down, then favored her father and her patient with an accusing look.
“He's broken no promises, my lady,” Sebastian said quickly. “I'm the one who raised the matter.”
“A good thing then that I have asked the healer to come by in the morning,” she said mildly. “He is the one who insisted to me that you should not be upset while you recover. After he's seen you, if he is happy with your progress, you may become as agitated as you like. But not today.”
Sebastian's smile was wry. “Since I owe the two of you my life, I suppose I will consider having to wait another lesson in patience from the Maker.”
“Another? How many lessons have you had?”
“I've lost count.”
Genevieve smiled at him then, her expression so engaging that he found himself smiling back. Lord Windborne looked between the two of them, then got easily to his feet.
“Well, now that you're here, my girl, I can attend to some things.”
“Of course, Father.”
She moved at once to his side, lifting on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Sebastian smiled at the genuine affection in the look that the two of them shared. His brothers had often received just such a look from their parents. He recognized it even if he couldn't remember the last time he had seen the same, except from Elthina.
“My Genie looks lovely today, doesn't she, Sebastian?” Lord Windborne prompted, none too subtly.
“Father, really,” she blushed, smoothing a hand unconsciously over her skirts. She was dressed in a fashionable, rose colored gown. It was becomingly modest but still managed to show her figure to advantage. Her golden hair was caught up in a neat chignon, tendrils left to curl charmingly at either temple. While she was not so ostentatiously dressed as her father, she gave the same impression of wealth and elegance.
“Indeed she does, sir,” he agreed at once. Manners dictated his response, but it was nonetheless sincere. Genevieve flashed him a grateful look, making him realize that she was just as embarrassed by her father's overt machinations as he was. His expression warmed.
Lord Windborne looked quite pleased with himself. “Of course she does. Now I really must go, but I leave you in good hands. I will be in my study if you need me, my girl.”
After he had let himself out of the room, Sebastian and Genevieve shared a laughing look. “You'll have to forgive my father,” she said without preamble. “He has all the subtlety of a hammer.”
Sebastian chuckled. “No offense taken. I should be flattered that he would consider me suitable. He obviously cares for you a great deal.”
“Suitable? How could you not be? You're Prince of Starkhaven. You must have the daughters of noble houses thrown at you daily.”
“If that were an everyday occurrence, I don't know whether I would consider it a blessing or a curse,” he quipped, but then sobered. “But I'm not at all suitable. Your father must not be aware of the vows I've sworn. I was affirmed a little more than a year ago. I've pledged my life to Andraste and the Maker.”
“There have been rumors,” she admitted. She moved to stand beside Sebastian, urging him to sit forward while she plumped the pillows at his back. “What news we get from Kirkwall is sometimes late in coming, and not all of it is accurate.” She sat down next to the bed in the chair her father had just vacated. “But I guess this one was true. Poor Father.”
“I'll speak to him about it at the next opportunity,” Sebastian promised gently. “I've no wish for you to be distressed when there is no need.”
“Oh, I'm not distressed by it,” Genevieve smiled, calm. “I rather thought that if the rumors were false, you've already chosen a mate.”
“Maker's breath, no! What in the world would make you think that?”
Genevieve's gaze, usually direct, faltered. She toyed with the edge of the coverlet. “Your fever-dreams. You called out often for someone named Hawke. I thought perhaps she was special to you.” She darted a swift look up, surprising the arrested expression on the prince's face. Shrewdly assessing it, she nodded. “I thought so.”
“No, you're wrong,” Sebastian heard himself say, surprised by how much regret the words brought him. “She is special to me, but not in the way you're thinking. She's a close friend, someone I respect and admire greatly.”
“But you wish she could be more?”
“She knows that I intend to remain in the Chantry,” he dodged. “There is no question of more.”
Genevieve had her own opinions about that, but she kept them to herself. Sebastian's expression was closed now, blue eyes pensive as he wrestled with his thoughts. Suppressing a sigh, she rose from the chair and crossed the room to pick up a lap desk and carry it back. When she set it down on top of him, Sebastian started and shot her a surprised look.
“What is this for?”
“You said earlier that you needed to write some letters.” She reached over to the bundle she had brought to the room, withdrawing parchment, ink and quills and setting them on the lap desk. Then she grabbed a book from the bedside table and smiled slightly. “Now you may.”
Nodding at his quietly spoken thanks, Genevieve moved gracefully to a chair across the room and lowered herself onto it. Without giving him another look, she opened her book to the marked page and began to read.
Sebastian knew enough about women to know that he had irritated this one, but for the life of him he couldn't think why. Her complete dismissal of him rankled, but he shrugged and set himself to the task of writing. Intending to write to Hawke first, he dipped the quill into the ink and then simply sat staring at the page. Minutes passed as he tried to decide just what to say, and finally he began to write.
Dear Jillian,
I don't know whether or not I should call you that. It struck me as I started to write this that we have known each other for nearly six months now, and never once did I ask you for your given name. Your brother was furious before when I didn't ask for your surname - please don't tell him about this additional lapse. I value my skin. In my defense, I'd never heard anyone call you anything but Hawke until your mother that morning. But as much as Hawke suits you, I think I prefer Jillian.
I owe you an apology. That morning, I called on you to tell you that I was leaving for Tantervale to visit a family friend who had news of my family's murders. But with the interruptions and what happened after I never quite managed to get around to it. By now I'm sure that you know I've left Kirkwall, but you must believe that it was never my intention to leave without talking to you about it first. I was angry, yes, but with myself. You were not to blame. Perhaps it will please you to know that the Maker saw fit to punish me in a variety of ways during my short journey, not the least of which included losing my bow.
I am staying now in the house of Lord Geoffrey Windborne and his daughter Genevieve, and my return to Kirkwall will be delayed. I was attacked on the road as I traveled here. Between the wounds and the fever, I was unconscious for several days. But everything is well, I promise you. Well, most everything. The attackers were from Flint Company. We both believed that you had killed them all, but at least three survived. There may be others and if so, you need to be careful. One of them spoke your name. If any more do survive, they are after you now as surely as they are me, if for different reasons.
I am safe here. Lord Windborne and his daughter are good people. I worry more for you. I cannot come to you yet, as much as I would like to ensure your safety, but know that you are in my thoughts and especially in my prayers. When I do return to Kirkwall, I suppose that you and I will have some things to discuss. Until then, may Andraste guide your steps.
Sebastian.
He sealed the letter and put it aside, then started on the one to Elthina. That one was much easier to write, and took only a few minutes. When that, too, was sealed and addressed, he looked up to where Genevieve still sat absorbed in her book. He cleared his throat quietly, but she did not look up. Sebastian inwardly winced. Yes, he had definitely irritated her. He tried again.
“Excuse me, Lady Genevieve.”
This time she lifted her attention from her book long enough to give him a politely indifferent look. “Yes? Did you need something?”
Putting on a smile that he knew (thanks to his misspent youth) was charming, he held up the letters. “Could I trouble you to see that these get sent to Kirkwall without delay? I would tend to it myself, but somehow I think that you would be a bit upset were I to get out of this bed just yet.”
“If you were to attempt it, I think you would find yourself flat on the floor before you got very far,” she judged, green eyes filled with smug superiority. “You are very weak.”
“Weak,” he repeated flatly.
Sebastian considered himself a reasonable man. He always tried very hard to live up to what he believed were the expectations of Andraste and the Chantry. He was kind to the Maker's creatures, great and small, and he looked for peaceful ways to settle disputes rather than resorting to anger. He strove to avoid reacting from arrogance or pride, both of which were regrettable parts of his nature. But he was not without his human failings. Being called weak by a woman the likes of Genevieve was no less an insult to him than to any other man.
His jaw set and a mutinous look entered his blue eyes, hardening them. Carefully setting aside the lap desk, Sebastian held Genevieve's gaze as he deliberately pulled the bedclothes aside. Of course, he would never have had the nerve if his hosts had not thoughtfully provided a long shirt to give him a measure of modesty. But they had, and so he had no hesitation in swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His side protested with a stab of pain, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it.
“Don't you dare get out of that bed.” Genevieve ordered. Sebastian was pleased to find that he now had her full attention. She had put her book aside and risen. Green eyes snapped with anger. “If you tear your stitches with this stupidity, I'm not going to redo them.”
“No one has asked you to, my lady,” Sebastian growled, pushing to his feet. Now both the wound in his side and his leg were making their presence felt, and he swayed a moment as a wave of dizziness washed over him. It was the first time he had been on his feet in days. He waited it out, then started determinedly toward the door. His steps were slow, but his shoulders were squared and the look that he gave her was as disdainful as any king could have made it.
Despite herself, Genevieve felt a grin stealing over her features. She walked over to him just as he put his hand on the latch of the door and plucked the letters from his grasp. “You've made your point, messer. I will see that your letters are sent.”
Satisfied, Sebastian turned without a word to go back to the bed. He stumbled and might have fallen, but Genevieve was there. She slipped an arm beneath his shoulders and they walked back over to the bed together, neither speaking. When he was settled in once more, she put her fists on her hips and looked down at him in reluctant admiration. “You are a stubborn man, Sebastian Vael. I do not envy your Hawke.” But she did.
True to her word, as soon as Genevieve left Sebastian alone, she went downstairs to find her father's steward. The steward, Marcus, was a thin, supercilious looking man of middle years. He had been with them as long as Genevieve could remember, handling their affairs. It was almost as though he was one of the family. Certainly he was one of her father's most trusted advisers. He bowed low to her when she handed over the letters, promising to have them sent at once. Able to reassure Sebastian that the task had been carried out, she returned upstairs. Marcus looked at the names scrawled in a bold hand across the folded papers and took them without delay to Lord Windborne. The next day, when the messenger finally set out on the journey to Kirkwall, only one letter from the Prince of Starkhaven rested in his pouch.
~*~
“Letter for you, Mistress Hawke!”
Bodahn stood in the main hall, waving a sealed parchment to illustrate his words. Hawke smiled and, tucking her staff into the crook of her arm, walked over to relieve him of the missive. Only a few days ago, she would have simply told him to put it in the pile with the others. But that was before she and her mother had spoken, and before she had decided to stop moping over the absence of Sebastian.
“Thank you, Bodahn. No time to read it now, but I'll take it with me.”
“As you like, messer. Where shall I tell your mother you've gone, if she asks?”
“Only to the Hanged Man. Varric promises to tell stories tonight that don't involve me, so for once I've agreed to go hear him.”
“I like the one about you and the dragon,” Bodahn said sincerely. “I would have given all the coin my boy and I brought out of the Deep Roads to see you fight her off, single-handed, with only a broken staff and your wits to keep you from her jaws. You saved every one of them, even the Grey Warden.”
Remembering the encounter with the mature dragon in the Deep Roads, Hawke smiled a little wryly. “That isn't precisely the way it happened.”
“Now now, Mistress Hawke. No need for modesty.”
Suppressing a sigh, Hawke decided to leave it be for now. “Just remember that Varric has a very active imagination, hm? If Mother asks, tell her that I should be home early.”
“Of course. Don't worry about a thing.”
Tucking the letter into her pocket, Hawke shouldered her staff and headed off toward Lowtown. Varric Tethras was a menace. He had begun embellishing his stories with so much fantasy that Hawke barely recognized them. Why couldn't he pick someone else to be his heroine? People had started looking at her as if they could not quite believe she was real when they saw her on the street, and she couldn't blame them. She was beginning to wonder herself who this Hawke person was.
She was in no danger of believing herself equal to the indomitable Hawke of Varric's tales, thanks to her other friends. While the dwarf delighted in seeing whether or not he could make her into a legend in her own time, she could always count on Aveline and Fenris at least to bring her right back down to earth. It was actually comforting to know that no matter what happened, there were some people who would always see her as just Hawke.
She couldn't help but wonder where Sebastian's opinion fit into things. More than once he had made an idle comment about her service to Kirkwall that made it sound as though he bought into some of what Varric was selling at the Hanged Man. But most times he seemed to accept her for what she was, or maybe just what he thought she was. If nothing else, their argument the morning he left had proved to her that he had been blind to a lot. But was it willful?
Maker, there I go again. Why can't I get the blighted man out of my head? Hawke kicked a rock out of her way angrily, watching it tumble and bounce down the Great Stair. She suddenly missed Carver quite sharply. If he was here, she would have someone to take all of her pent-up anger out on, and he would give back as good as he got. Fighting with her brother had been a cure to more ailments than she had ever realized until he was gone. Now the only one who would fight with her was Fenris, and it wasn't exactly the same.
As if her musings had summoned the elf, Fenris was suddenly at her side as she made her way down the long stair between Hightown and Lowtown. He had developed a very bad habit recently of just turning up out of nowhere, especially when she was out alone. He might not have actually been following her these past few days, but if not, he had an uncanny knack for finding her amid all the people of Kirkwall. She had almost convinced herself to start lying in wait for him, but why spoil his fun?
“Fenris! I was just thinking about you.”
“That would explain the scowl,” he nodded, expressionless.
“Was I scowling?”
“You weren't smiling.”
“You're one to talk.”
Fenris let that pass since there was hardly any honest argument he could make. He looked sidelong at Hawke, taking note of the way she was dressed and the staff that she carried so casually. His black brows drew together in disapproval.
“Why do you persist in carrying that staff around, in broad daylight? Don't you already give the templars reason enough to suspect you?”
“Not this again,” Hawke sighed. “Lots of people carry a staff, Fenris. I had this one made for me especially so that it would not look like a mage's staff. Notice the blade. It looks as much like a spear as anything. And what do you mean about the templars? It's not as if I'm throwing fireballs through the streets.”
“I know you are not that naïve,” he chided her quietly, and the lowered tone made his voice sound even deeper and more resonant.
Hawke looked at him sidelong. “I'm careful. With what we do, I can hardly be completely discreet,” she replied. And then her tone became cutting. “Are you worried that you're “guilty by association?” Isn't that what you told me once?”
“Why must you always goad me, Hawke?”
“Maybe because you always scold me.”
“Someone has to.”
“Oh, I see.” By now they were well into Lowtown, the Hanged Man waiting at the far end of the street they walked. “I will have to let Carver know that you took up where he left off. He should be absolutely thrilled.”
Fenris opened the door of the tavern for her, green eyes narrowed in anger behind the fall of white hair across his brow. “I am not your brother.”
Hawke paused a moment, meeting that stormy gaze without flinching. “No, you're not.” And satisfied that she had made her point, she swept past him into the tavern.
Fenris stood in the doorway, watching as she made her way through the press of familiar people, smiling brightly to friends and acquaintances when they called out greetings. Anger warred with admiration inside of him. The harder he tried to protect her from herself, the more strength she showed. It was difficult not to admire her for it, and impossible not to respect her. But trust her? No. He would never go that far. Expression stoic, he joined the group of companions at Varric's table to listen to whatever fantasies the dwarf was creating tonight.
It was much later before the common room of the Hanged Man was quiet enough to allow the companions to share any genuine conversation. Varric's stories of the Hero of Ferelden had gone over well with his audience, most of whom had been refugees of the Blight. Laughter and drinks had flowed freely through the mellow crowd and her friends had been happy just to enjoy the moment. Hawke's evening would have been one of complete contentment if it hadn't been for two things.
The first was that whenever she looked over at Fenris, he alone of the companions seemed to not be having a good time. She felt guilty for the way she had deliberately tried to anger him on the way here tonight. It was just that sometimes, she found the temptation impossible to resist. But she was sorry for it, and determined to try not to antagonize him further.
The second thing that marred her night was that Varric managed to weave her into his stories after all. Hawke had barely done more than exchange greetings with the Grey Wardens when they had passed through Lothering, but to hear Varric tell it, she was the one who alone had made it possible for them to embark on their quest to unite the nations and slay the Archdemon. It had actually made her blush in mortification.
“I can't believe you did that!” she railed at him now. “All I did was give the Wardens directions to one of the local farmsteads.”
“Now now, Hawke, there's no need to be modest,” Varric soothed her, unknowingly repeating Bodhan's words from earlier. “You helped them in their time of need. The rest of it is just details, and those are boring. I like my version better.”
“Never let it be said that the dwarf let truth become an obstacle in one of his tales,” Aveline, looking sharp in her brand new Guard Captain uniform, smiled. “But he didn't even mention that I caught a glimpse of the Hero at the camp in Ostagar.”
“Well as long as we're on the subject,” Anders said, “I know the Hero of Ferelden far better than any of you. She conscripted me, you know. We fought together many times.”
“Are you sure you know her better than any of us?” Isabela drawled.
“You certainly don't know her better than me,” Merrill suddenly piped in. She'd had just enough ale to make her forget her shyness. “She's from my clan. I grew up with her.”
They all got the rare treat then of seeing Varric struck speechless.
“Daisy!” he finally managed. “You've been holding out on me.”
“Not a'tall,” she replied, voice lilting. “You never asked.”
“Well shit,” Varric said, bested. “You're right.” He grabbed up the ale pitcher and went to sit next to Merrill. “But it's never too late to start.” After that, their heads bent together as Varric began plying her with ale and questions in equal measure.
Hawke and Isabela shared an amused look, but it was Aveline who spoke the thought on all their minds. “Merrill is going to wish tomorrow that she had stayed silent, if she remembers anything.”
“Not remembering anything tomorrow sounds like a good plan to me. Come on, Anders. Let's do some shots. And maybe, if you get me drunk enough, I'll let you show me that trick with the lightning that you used to do at the Pearl.”
Since protesting was clearly useless, Anders shrugged to the others and joined Isabela at the bar.
“She's absolutely depraved,” Aveline decided. “But at least now I can talk to the two of you without having to listen to her comments.”
Hawke and Fenris transferred their attention to Aveline as one. “Oh? What's on your mind?” Hawke asked.
“There's a new criminal element in Kirkwall,” she began quietly, her voice pitched to carry only to them. “I don't think they've been operating here long, but the frustrating thing is that the guards can find no leads on them. None at all. Either there are no witnesses or the witnesses are killed.”
Fenris spoke thoughtfully. “I have heard of a rash of thefts in Hightown in the last week or two. Are they related?”
“Yes. But it doesn't stop at petty thievery. This group seem to not care what the job is. Stealing and killing are all the same to them.”
“Mercenaries,” Hawke nodded.
“Probably. But if so, they don't seek notoriety for themselves.”
“What would you like me - us - to do about it?” Hawke shot a look to Fenris, who nodded, then back to Aveline.
“They apparently operate mostly in Hightown,” Aveline replied, gratitude in her gaze. “Since the two of you live there, I thought that perhaps you could keep an ear to the ground. Or maybe even spend a little time out at night watching for anything suspicious. And if you find any leads, bring them straight to me so that the guard can redeem ourselves. A lot of nobles are grumbling that they aren't safe even under the noses of the watch. I can't have that.”
“Of course, Aveline. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks. I owe you one.” She got to her feet and adjusted the blade that was always at her side. “I guess I'm off then. Stay out of trouble.”
“You just told me to try to find trouble.”
“You know what I mean.”
As Aveline departed, head shaking, Hawke grinned unrepentantly at the look Fenris shot her.
“I take comfort in knowing that it's not only me you needle.”
“You should actually be flattered. I like needling you more than anyone.” Following Aveline's example, Hawke got to her feet and grabbed up her staff from where it leaned against the table.
“And yet, I feel distinctly unflattered,” Fenris muttered, and as he got up to follow Hawke, he caught sight of a folded piece of parchment under the chair she had just vacated. Reaching down fluidly, he retrieved the paper and held it out to her. “You dropped this.”
“Oh, I'd forgotten about it. Thank you.” She felt a flash of irritation with herself for dismissing the letter completely. Opening it now, she scanned the few lines written there.
Messer Hawke,
Please forgive my presumption, but I don't know who else to turn to. I remember a few weeks past when you brought Leina and Sindene back to the alienage, and I thought that you might be able to help me, too. My boy Feynriel has gone missing and I fear for his safety. Please, come see me in the alienage and I will tell you everything I know. No one else will help me.
Arianni
Hawke raised serious gray eyes to Fenris.
“I think we might have to put Aveline's request on hold for a day or two.”