The Hunt for Gravity
Title: The Hunt for Gravity
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sebastian, Female Hawke, mentions of past Hawke/Anders
Summary: He hunts, but does not find what he is looking for.
A/N: Endgame spoilers. Posted over at swooping_is_bad here
When Sebastian finally tracks them down, he is too late. For years after the destruction of the Chantry, after retaking his home, he has sought that murdering apostate - Anders - and, by association, Hawke. But what he finds when his search comes to an end is not what wanted - no, needed - to find.
Instead, when his sources lead him to a small village on the outskirts of Tevinter - a land where his name carries no weight - and the templar at his heels tenses at the magic overflowing from the house.. Her magic. His magic. Sebastian doesn't know who's, only that this is it. This is the end that he has been searching for.
One of his men - a templar, for who would go up against two such apostates without the aid of at least one templar, if not more? - kicks down the door and they move inside even as more of his men wait, should the apostates leave the house.
He is too close now to see Anders walk out of this alive.
There is a small scream as they burst into the room, and he is blinded by snow and ice before he can see anything. Magic hums in the air, and by his side he sees a white glow begin to surround the templar.
“Stop.”
The voice is familiar and it brings a strange tightness to his chest to hear it. It has been so many years now, years filled up with a desire for vengeance and a hate that is some times for her, but more often than not for Anders.
“If you do not back down,” she says, and he blinks the snow from his eyes and sees her, “then you know full well what I will do.”
The pressure in the room begins to change, pressing in around him, and the glow around the templar increases. He knows what she can do - knew what she could do, years ago. He, himself, cannot sense the magic, only the increasing pressure in the air.
He is not certain that they could win, if she were to attack.
He should have brought more templars.
(But templars are hard to come by these days, and they have enough problems of their own. They do not have the time to help the prince of Starkhaven hunt down the apostate who started this entire mess.)
“Hold,” he says, and the templar's eyes snap to him in confusion. But the glow of holy light fades from him, and Sebastian looks instead to her. To Hawke.
She is older - but, then, he is older as well - and she wears her age in fine lines about the corners of her eyes and the slightest streaks of white at her temples. But she is still strong, eyes hard and trained on him, standing with a confidence that he remembers from his years in Kirkwall.
As the templar stands down, so does she - the pressure in the air falls away, the growing sense of gravity weighing him down eases, but Hawke does not relax her stance or her grip on the heavy metal staff that he holds at the ready.
He knows that staff, with its three crescent blades, knows it because it was the staff that he was carrying then, when he destroyed the Chantry.
Anders.
“Where is he?” he says, voice rough, harsher than he expects. Hawke's eyes narrow - she must know why he is here.
“What you seek is not here,” she says, a thin smile upon her mouth. “You've wasted your time, Sebastian.”
Years ago, his heart would have jumped to hear her say his name. But his hopeless infatuation with her is long since gone, and his reasons for tracking them were never about her.
He opens his mouth to speak - to demand the location of Anders, to order the templar to do something, to simply act, but a tiny voice rings through the room and any words he might have thought to say die within his mouth.
“Mama?” he hears, and his gaze shifts from Hawke to the small form that is shielded by her body, sees a small, wide eyed face ringed by dark curls, sees tiny fingers curled into the heavy skirts of Hawke's robe. There is melting ice on the floor around her, and Sebastian remembers that Hawke never used ice magic. “Who are they?”
“An old friend and a hunting dog,” Hawke says, and he drags his gaze back to her face, away from the little girl hiding behind her. “Call him off, Sebastian, and we can talk. We do not have to fight.”
“Do we not? Do you think I came all this way to simply talk?”
“I think,” she says, voice as low and dangerous as he has ever heard, “that it would be very unwise of you to do anything rash when it would do nothing except harm those not involved.”
“I have come here for justice,” he says. “I have come here for vengeance.”
But there is a small squeak of fear from the girl and his attention is diverted. One of Hawke's hands leaves her staff and rests lightly on her head as the girl presses her face into her skirts.
“Hush, Ayda,” Hawke says, her voice softer than Sebastian could have thought possible, what with the veiled threat she had just issued him. “Sssh. He's not talking about him.”
“I don't like Vengeance,” Sebastian hears the little girl murmur, her face hidden. “He took papa away. I hate him.”
Something like pain twinges in his chest for a moment, because there is such hurt in this girl's voice.
“Sssh, darling.” Hawke runs her fingers through her daughter's hair. “He isn't here.”
“Hawke,” he says, and that is all he can say of her name, nothing more than that. “Where is he? Tell me and I will leave you. I have no quarrel with you.”
“Are you so certain of that?” she asks, then falls silent for a moment. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment and she breathes. When they open, there is pain there. He can see that, at least. “I know what the...desire for justice can do to someone. Are you certain that this stops with Anders?”
It is a question he has asked himself many times. So many times. And there has been doubt, so much doubt.
“Yes,” he says, and that is the truth.
There is sadness and relief in her eyes, and there is a soft thump as she finally allows her staff to touch the ground. He is no fool - she is still as dangerous as ever.
“Send your templar away,” she says, and the half forgotten templar tenses, “and we will talk.”
“Go,” Sebastian says. The templar's head swings to him in surprise.
“Prince Sebastian-”
“Go,” he says again. “I will return to you shortly.”
The templar is silent for a long moment, then bows his head and retreats. The moment that he is gone, Hawke exhales, more tension leaving her body.
The little girl finally stops hiding her face in Hawke's skirts, looking up at her mother - and that is an odd thought, that this girl is Hawke's daughter. “Templars are bad,” she says, with the innocent finality of a child that has heard this said but does not know full well what it means. But she looks to him with wide brown eyes. “You brought a bad man here.”
“Not all templars are bad,” Hawke says, drawing her hand through the girl's hair. “But that templar did not harm us.” There is a yet implied there, but she does not give voice to it. Still, it is odd to hear her voice such a thing - for so long, he has remembered only those final days in Kirkwall, only remembered how she sided with the mages before he turned away from her forever.
But he does not have time for this - he is not here to reminisce, and he has now placed himself unguarded in a room with a woman he once called friend.
“Hawke,” he says, drawing her attention away from the girl.
“Ayda,” she says to her daughter, “please, go to your room for a bit.”
The girl looks from him to her mother and back again. Her eyes are those of the apostate - Anders' eyes - and then she nods.
“Okay, mama,” she says, and steps away from Hawke, trailing damp footprints from the now melted ice after her as she disappears into the back room.
“Sebastian,” Hawke says, “I am not lying. You will not find what you want here.”
“Just tell me where he is. And then I will leave and never trouble you again.” It is the truth, he thinks. He will.
“Then he is outside,” she says, and his eyes narrow and his jaw clenches because, damn her, Anders has been here all along, and all he needs to do is signal to his men - hard to do from inside a house with few windows, and he was stupid to put himself in this situation-
“Go out to the garden,” she says, and he is certain that she sees the change in his face - he has never been good at hiding his emotions, they splash all over his face and reveal everything. “You will find his grave there.”
Everything comes to a halt.
“His...what?”
“Anders is dead, Sebastian,” she says, and now he can see all of the emotions that she tries to hide, and weariness overrides all. “Your justice has already been carried out, but not by your hand.”
So many years, and to what end? But it was only ever about justice, not about him being the one to carry it out.
“Who...” he starts, and her words cut him off.
“Me.” And then there is silence between them, and Sebastian does not know what to feel. There is relief - this is over - but, somewhere, there is something like guilt, maybe at the grief on her face. “You have your answer. Please, Sebastian, leave us in peace.” If you can, she doesn't say.
As he leaves, he tries not to notices the little parts of the house around him that show the life lived here - the little touches of humanity, the whispers of Anders and Hawke and the little girl.
There is a grave in the garden, and his hunt is at an end.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sebastian, Female Hawke, mentions of past Hawke/Anders
Summary: He hunts, but does not find what he is looking for.
A/N: Endgame spoilers. Posted over at swooping_is_bad here
When Sebastian finally tracks them down, he is too late. For years after the destruction of the Chantry, after retaking his home, he has sought that murdering apostate - Anders - and, by association, Hawke. But what he finds when his search comes to an end is not what wanted - no, needed - to find.
Instead, when his sources lead him to a small village on the outskirts of Tevinter - a land where his name carries no weight - and the templar at his heels tenses at the magic overflowing from the house.. Her magic. His magic. Sebastian doesn't know who's, only that this is it. This is the end that he has been searching for.
One of his men - a templar, for who would go up against two such apostates without the aid of at least one templar, if not more? - kicks down the door and they move inside even as more of his men wait, should the apostates leave the house.
He is too close now to see Anders walk out of this alive.
There is a small scream as they burst into the room, and he is blinded by snow and ice before he can see anything. Magic hums in the air, and by his side he sees a white glow begin to surround the templar.
“Stop.”
The voice is familiar and it brings a strange tightness to his chest to hear it. It has been so many years now, years filled up with a desire for vengeance and a hate that is some times for her, but more often than not for Anders.
“If you do not back down,” she says, and he blinks the snow from his eyes and sees her, “then you know full well what I will do.”
The pressure in the room begins to change, pressing in around him, and the glow around the templar increases. He knows what she can do - knew what she could do, years ago. He, himself, cannot sense the magic, only the increasing pressure in the air.
He is not certain that they could win, if she were to attack.
He should have brought more templars.
(But templars are hard to come by these days, and they have enough problems of their own. They do not have the time to help the prince of Starkhaven hunt down the apostate who started this entire mess.)
“Hold,” he says, and the templar's eyes snap to him in confusion. But the glow of holy light fades from him, and Sebastian looks instead to her. To Hawke.
She is older - but, then, he is older as well - and she wears her age in fine lines about the corners of her eyes and the slightest streaks of white at her temples. But she is still strong, eyes hard and trained on him, standing with a confidence that he remembers from his years in Kirkwall.
As the templar stands down, so does she - the pressure in the air falls away, the growing sense of gravity weighing him down eases, but Hawke does not relax her stance or her grip on the heavy metal staff that he holds at the ready.
He knows that staff, with its three crescent blades, knows it because it was the staff that he was carrying then, when he destroyed the Chantry.
Anders.
“Where is he?” he says, voice rough, harsher than he expects. Hawke's eyes narrow - she must know why he is here.
“What you seek is not here,” she says, a thin smile upon her mouth. “You've wasted your time, Sebastian.”
Years ago, his heart would have jumped to hear her say his name. But his hopeless infatuation with her is long since gone, and his reasons for tracking them were never about her.
He opens his mouth to speak - to demand the location of Anders, to order the templar to do something, to simply act, but a tiny voice rings through the room and any words he might have thought to say die within his mouth.
“Mama?” he hears, and his gaze shifts from Hawke to the small form that is shielded by her body, sees a small, wide eyed face ringed by dark curls, sees tiny fingers curled into the heavy skirts of Hawke's robe. There is melting ice on the floor around her, and Sebastian remembers that Hawke never used ice magic. “Who are they?”
“An old friend and a hunting dog,” Hawke says, and he drags his gaze back to her face, away from the little girl hiding behind her. “Call him off, Sebastian, and we can talk. We do not have to fight.”
“Do we not? Do you think I came all this way to simply talk?”
“I think,” she says, voice as low and dangerous as he has ever heard, “that it would be very unwise of you to do anything rash when it would do nothing except harm those not involved.”
“I have come here for justice,” he says. “I have come here for vengeance.”
But there is a small squeak of fear from the girl and his attention is diverted. One of Hawke's hands leaves her staff and rests lightly on her head as the girl presses her face into her skirts.
“Hush, Ayda,” Hawke says, her voice softer than Sebastian could have thought possible, what with the veiled threat she had just issued him. “Sssh. He's not talking about him.”
“I don't like Vengeance,” Sebastian hears the little girl murmur, her face hidden. “He took papa away. I hate him.”
Something like pain twinges in his chest for a moment, because there is such hurt in this girl's voice.
“Sssh, darling.” Hawke runs her fingers through her daughter's hair. “He isn't here.”
“Hawke,” he says, and that is all he can say of her name, nothing more than that. “Where is he? Tell me and I will leave you. I have no quarrel with you.”
“Are you so certain of that?” she asks, then falls silent for a moment. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment and she breathes. When they open, there is pain there. He can see that, at least. “I know what the...desire for justice can do to someone. Are you certain that this stops with Anders?”
It is a question he has asked himself many times. So many times. And there has been doubt, so much doubt.
“Yes,” he says, and that is the truth.
There is sadness and relief in her eyes, and there is a soft thump as she finally allows her staff to touch the ground. He is no fool - she is still as dangerous as ever.
“Send your templar away,” she says, and the half forgotten templar tenses, “and we will talk.”
“Go,” Sebastian says. The templar's head swings to him in surprise.
“Prince Sebastian-”
“Go,” he says again. “I will return to you shortly.”
The templar is silent for a long moment, then bows his head and retreats. The moment that he is gone, Hawke exhales, more tension leaving her body.
The little girl finally stops hiding her face in Hawke's skirts, looking up at her mother - and that is an odd thought, that this girl is Hawke's daughter. “Templars are bad,” she says, with the innocent finality of a child that has heard this said but does not know full well what it means. But she looks to him with wide brown eyes. “You brought a bad man here.”
“Not all templars are bad,” Hawke says, drawing her hand through the girl's hair. “But that templar did not harm us.” There is a yet implied there, but she does not give voice to it. Still, it is odd to hear her voice such a thing - for so long, he has remembered only those final days in Kirkwall, only remembered how she sided with the mages before he turned away from her forever.
But he does not have time for this - he is not here to reminisce, and he has now placed himself unguarded in a room with a woman he once called friend.
“Hawke,” he says, drawing her attention away from the girl.
“Ayda,” she says to her daughter, “please, go to your room for a bit.”
The girl looks from him to her mother and back again. Her eyes are those of the apostate - Anders' eyes - and then she nods.
“Okay, mama,” she says, and steps away from Hawke, trailing damp footprints from the now melted ice after her as she disappears into the back room.
“Sebastian,” Hawke says, “I am not lying. You will not find what you want here.”
“Just tell me where he is. And then I will leave and never trouble you again.” It is the truth, he thinks. He will.
“Then he is outside,” she says, and his eyes narrow and his jaw clenches because, damn her, Anders has been here all along, and all he needs to do is signal to his men - hard to do from inside a house with few windows, and he was stupid to put himself in this situation-
“Go out to the garden,” she says, and he is certain that she sees the change in his face - he has never been good at hiding his emotions, they splash all over his face and reveal everything. “You will find his grave there.”
Everything comes to a halt.
“His...what?”
“Anders is dead, Sebastian,” she says, and now he can see all of the emotions that she tries to hide, and weariness overrides all. “Your justice has already been carried out, but not by your hand.”
So many years, and to what end? But it was only ever about justice, not about him being the one to carry it out.
“Who...” he starts, and her words cut him off.
“Me.” And then there is silence between them, and Sebastian does not know what to feel. There is relief - this is over - but, somewhere, there is something like guilt, maybe at the grief on her face. “You have your answer. Please, Sebastian, leave us in peace.” If you can, she doesn't say.
As he leaves, he tries not to notices the little parts of the house around him that show the life lived here - the little touches of humanity, the whispers of Anders and Hawke and the little girl.
There is a grave in the garden, and his hunt is at an end.