Blessing

A blood-soaked city in the distance, the prince in exile must journey along a wearisome path to the throne while his beloved Champion battles her own demons. Sebastian x F!Hawke.

This fan fiction might contain spoilers, canon and also non-canon endeavours and history. Taking place after the initial chaos, the fall of the Chantry and the deaths of First Enchanter Orsino and Knight-Commander Meredith, the heart of this work will attempt to chronicle an evolving intimate relationship between Prince Sebastian Vael and a disconsolate female mage Hawke and their efforts to take back Starkhaven.

Author: Illusionary Ennui

Disclaimer: If it's not in the Dragon Age games, codex entries, or the wiki, it's mine. All else, hail to Bioware.

Chapter Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, and Romance.

Edited: 07.11.2014 - Rewritten bits and bobs; please read the Author's Note at the end...

Chapter One: A Blessing Received

Destiny changes
Whispers of promises lost
The Queen of light calls

The Free Marches trundled by as a coach persisted in its journey beyond Kirkwall's last claim. Young trees bowed in the wind whilst birds of prey rode the currents, nature unhindered by the coach's passing. As it rattled onwards, gray-tinged clouds crested the peaks of the Vimmark Mountains. After the sun set and the moon hung prominent in the sky, Prince Sebastian Vael imagined rain to blanket the valley. Yet the coming storm, a traveller's bane, held no great interest for him. Even more than the reclamation of his homeland of Starkhaven, more than the loss of his dear Grand Cleric Elthina, it was she who drew his fractured, dithering concentration; the Champion, sorrowful, broken, and lost.
Hair awry and her eyes glazed, Maria Hawke sat across from him, her features unable to completely express the turmoil within. The hood of her cloak drooped low and cast her face in shadow. Each line and curve of her face and form etched itself into his memory.
Even now, Sebastian caught a glimpse of that look of defeat that overtook the remains of her control as she collapsed outside the Gallows...

"This - this is wrong..." Maria Hawke choked on her words as her knees buckled beneath her and her staff tumbled from her weakened grasp. "All of them dead. Dead because of fear, because of anger. It's all wrong..."

"This - this is wrong..." Maria Hawke choked on her words. Her knees buckled beneath her and her staff tumbled from her weakened grasp. "All of them dead. Dead because of fear, because of anger. It's all wrong..."

The carefully maintained façade crumbled and crushed the mage with the lies. Kirkwall's Champion, gone. Her sobs echoed against the high walls while her anguish drowned out the shouts and muffled clangs of metal. It was as if the earth, the very world around them acknowledged the pain of those whose blood stained the stones, engulfed them in near stillness save for her cries. No one saw the one they named Champion after the battle that night, only a shade of a shattered woman far removed from a simple existence.

"Hawke..." Her name died on the prince's tongue, his own grief quelled, overridden. Her empty gaze robbed him of breath. Whatever warmth they once held, its fires sputtered and were extinguished. Yet, his respect did not waver, nor did his heart. Screwing his courage, he grabbed her arm and dragged her up from the flagstones, purposefully rough. "Come."

She offered no resistance when they escorted her from a battlefield unlike any other. Sebastian's stalwart fingers never left hers even with silence as her only answer to the comfort. Deeper into the city, Aveline led the group through Hightown, Fenris at their backs to cover their retreat and together they fled to the Hawke Estate. Orana fell upon her blood-spattered mistress with a cry and her desperate sobs for her mistress's well-being deafened. Maria's hand squeezed Sebastian's tighter, unwilling to be parted. The prince touched her face, his actions more reassuring than any words and she surrender, the little maidservant then guiding Maria away to her chambers as she fussed over every scratch and bruise.

Midnight became dawn by the time the last of their companions slipped in the stillness of Hightown. Varric among them was the most enthusiastic of them all. Armed with a plethora of anecdotes, each fabrication more fantastical than the last, the night continued to dazzle and amaze, bloodshed mere spice. Unshakable, that one.

Only Starkhaven's sole surviving heir chose to linger.

"Messere?"

His bow lay on the table some metres away from the fireplace where he stood. Without thought, his hand reached for it out of instinct. Orana's startled shriek when he rounded on her checked his adrenaline-addled senses.

"Mistress Hawke asks for your presence, my lord," the shaking elf said, the fabric of her apron wringed between her thin hands. "I am sorry... I- I am afraid for her. If anything were to happen..."

Nothing would happen to her, he promised. Never again. Now was the time for action, something he should have done long ago.

"How would you like to serve a prince, Orana?" asked Sebastian, his voice level but carried with it authority like thunder in a storm. "If you care for your mistress, do as I command."

His directions were clear and precise, so he left her to the tasks as he mounted the stairs. Blood pounded in his ears, but he had made his decision - he would finish what he began without closure, the loss of the Grand Cleric too great even with their last conversation fresh enough to comfort him. In the back of his mind, he prayed she smiled down on him and approved.

On the landing, light flickered from the open door and spilled onto the floor outside her quarters. The heat of the hearth permeated the room when he entered, his steps quiet but quick. A great tub sat before the fire where it basked in the heat, cast darker shadows into the bedchamber. One bloodied arm hung over the side, its hand twitching amidst. The other cradled her head, her red-rimmed eyes unfocused but staring into nothingness. She barely moved as a chair scraped across the rugs, lost to the melancholy.

At first, Sebastian found himself unable to look upon her modesty out of shame, rather than his vows. Nevertheless, temptation proved stronger and his eyes strayed to take in the sight of a woman divested of all her armour. There was nothing left but the shell of her, a body and nothing more.

Maker help me.

His licentious gaze swept across the swell of her bosoms, pressed against the tub with a sheen of the bathwater which glinted in the firelight. Piercing blue eyes travelled down one side, crested over the curve of her wide hips and down the thigh overlapping its twin to thankfully preserve her dignity. Wanton thoughts burned him with ache even as the Chant of Light ghosted from his lips to calm his fevered mind.

Six years of tension released for the chance to console a soul in mourning.

Trembling fingers reached out, not for just for him, but something real, something to anchor her sanity. In every movement, in the silence, he saw the truth of her need. Bowman's hands brought them to his lips, his mouth dry as they accepted silence.

"Can't stay here." Her voice was hoarse, barely audible above the crackle of the fire.

"I know."

Maria had spoken not a word since the proposal. While the coach rocked and swayed on its path to Starkhaven, there she sat, mute and withdrawn in her thoughts. In the solitary moments, Sebastian studied her like one might a priceless painting. Even drifting between states of consciousness, he thought her beautiful. But it was more than that. It was a beauty derived itself from her essence, however, tormented it might be. Everything she accomplished, every word her lips formed, possessed a purpose. Although too many worked against the grain, they still rang with her will: to do what she believed to be right. His people needed a ruler - she fought to show him that no other would suffice. For six years, she tried to give him what he really wanted in the deepest part of his heart, what he wanted but never fully realized. Yet, he knew he could not do it alone - he need her more that he cared to admit. But what was he to do when the one he loved, the one needed most, retreated now from even his company?

"You build her strong once more."

Deafening was that voice. Everything became stillness and silence, Sebastian's breath caught in his throat, his chest tightened. Only light filled the carriage's windows, the mountains beyond lost in its dull shine. He could not even feel the stony road beneath them, the carriage smooth as if stopped. Eerie as it was, it was awe which gripped him even tighter.

Delicate fingers petted Maria's cherub cheeks, the mage's eyes closed in fitful slumber. A sheet of fine hair tumbled in a cascade from the unearthly woman's head, pooling about her waist. Her gown, silver as moonlight, hugged her form to accentuate each flawless asset. She wore no adornments except a filigreed circlet of silverite, an opalescent jewel glittering upon her brow, and a fine chain, looped several times about the ivory column of her neck. From the delicate chain another gem dangled, a teardrop between her breasts which caught the pale light pouring through the carriage window.
The prince gazed at her face and he turned from Maria to the woman and back. Maria shifted beneath her cloak, unaware save for whatever tormented her in the Fade. The hood of her cloak slipped from her head, eyes pinched. A hand shoot out to grip her hand, Sebastian's fingers tight on hers.

"You have neither fear of me or of the Fade. The demons tempt her, but she is strong enough there." Her feather-light touch upon his shoulder drew him away. Her soft smile held sorrow, a lifetime of sadness. But in her eyes a smouldering light brightened her visage, a hidden secret beyond mortal sight. "You are fortunate, young prince," the lilting voice said, clear as the sky on a winter morn. "The Maker gave me many blessings, but perchance this one more than any other I do cherish. Fate gives so little in return, but many things are constant – oh, it took Him so very long to understand it."

Those same fingers reached behind her neck and waves of silken tresses glided over the smooth flesh. Familiarity confounded him, although he could not place it. Nonetheless, unbidden, Sebastian's hand closed around the pendant when she dropped in his palm. Pale hands cupped his fingers while they curled about the gem, the chain slipping between them.

"A gift, dear one," she murmured as her lips brushed his knuckles. "I do not want your vows, your promises. Turn not away from this path. This one's heart sits broken, its salvation lies within yours. Together, maybe then can you find peace among the remains."

Her face drew closer to his, the dim light aglow around her. Stunned, the flush of recognition flashed across his cheeks. The woman's mouth curved into a gentle smile as she pressed her lips against his own, not demanding, not commanding. Sebastian's eyes fluttered closed and with a great thump, he felt the carriage moving beneath them once more. Every noise of wind and wood creaked and as Sebastian opened his eyes again, he find himself alone.

Was it all a dream?

A weight still rested in his palm. His fingers unfurled to find his mother's locket pooled in the cup of his hand. He remembered it as easily as the day his grandfather told him the story, given to his mother as a gift for his own birth. It felt so strange then as its scrollwork flickered and scattered sunlight, the three spirits of Starkhaven's crest writhing infinitely together around the chalice of the Wardens during the Second Blight. It grew warm and shimmered like starlight, its heat seeping through his skin. Then the metal began the flake. Sebastian's eyes widened as the flakes crumbled. Silver powder began to fill his palm, the locket turning to dust until a shining gem remained, too familiar.

Blessèd Andraste!

How could he have known? Where had his grandfather found such a relic or hidden it so carefully? What did it mean? Had he gone mad? Had - ?!

He sworn again, nearly dropping the precious stone as Maria's piteous whimper roused him. Her fists clenched as the nightmares ripped through her shattered mind. Worry replaced the daze even as the chain choked his fingers. The prince's gaze darkened, his body like fire when he slid next to her. His fingertips rose to caress her cheek. She did not awake at his first touch, but her body shifted into his arms without pause. A kiss fell atop her head and the scent of her filled him with hope. His thumb traced patterns on the tear-streaked skin, meant to rub away the pain which wrought them - he knew not what else to do. Small hands gripped his shirt, but her whimpering slowly ceased, chased away by his warmth.

There, he saw it and again his eyes grew wide: the same curve of the mouth, the same eyes - how could he not see it?

But, after six years, all he saw was Maria Hawke and he wanted her, every battered, broken and beautiful piece.

"Sebastian?"

A leathery, sun-browned hand strayed into her hair and it brought her to him, his actions gentle as his mouth met hers. How long had he craved this? Six years and never once had he taken what was offered, desired. He left her breathless and that, in itself, granted him joy. This he would have never found in the Chantry. Maria's lips parted and he accepted the challenge. Her hands crept up his chest, hesitant but yielding. Sebastian's own drew her tighter, snaked behind the mage to brace her spine and tugged her hips closer. His kisses left her mouth to trail along her jaw and to lavish her pulse where his tongue tasted sweat and a headier essence. A shuddering moan cast him back.

Too much, too fast.

"No, it's more than that." She twisted to face him, her thighs shifting to straddle his long legs. Although her stomach fluttered, she stayed her course, the sudden desire of flesh overcome by devotion born of ardour. Save for that contact, she held him at a distance, her expression a mixture of confusion, of pain, and of wonderment. Her eyes had yet to meet his, all of her willpower spent to maintain a selfish need to veil herself, to disguise the distress and the longing deep in her heart. "There's naught left of me to give you. It's all gone – the influence, the power... everything..."
She sank in his embrace, given to sobbing against his chest.

Sebastian said nothing: as if he could know the full workings of the Maker's will. But now, he knew more and he pushed aside her hair. Still tangled in his fingers, he looped the silver chain about her neck.

Yes, this is where it belongs.

He counted each loop, named them after each pass.

First loop, their past.

Second loop, the present.

Third loop, a future.

Some day he would have the answer, but not today.

He graced her throat again with another kiss as she looked up, her face crimson and raw. Lithe fingers followed the chain to the pendant nestled between inviting breasts peaking from beneath her robes, loosened in her slumber. His own joined hers to touch the cool, smooth surface, the barest hint of magic taunting them.

"A crystalline Tear of Andraste." Her breath slowed, shallow and in awe. Her father had told her fanciful legends of the gems - crystals of such great power unfathomable by man, fashioned by Tevinter mages from the great Lady's own stolen tears. Such was worth more than the entirety of a ransomed kingdom. No better gift could be imagined. One touch and precious stone responded to her magic, tingling with unseen power; it was genuine. "But where - ?"

"It does not matter," Sebastian protested with a distracting smile. Beneath its mask, he hid his emotions with honed precision, unwilling to give in to baser instinct. Instead, he swallowed his own desire, heady and heavy. His expression hardened, the words readied for longer than he dared recall. A new vow rolled off his tongue with surprising ease. It felt strange but necessary, despite the hardship it would bring them both. Unlike his proposal, this sentiment held a sweeter tone rather than the desperation of that night. "You once said that whatever I asked, the answer would be yes. Then allow me this, a simple promise - though I have taken you from your home to protect you, grant me your favour and all that I possess is yours. Know that I love you."

The pain would never cease, but Sebastian knew peace might yet be had if only they sought it as one, his secret spoken the truth. On every breath, he prayed to be the one to guide her, to give her hope as she once had for the former brother he once was in another life, an old life that lay behind them in the ruins of Kirkwall. In every moment, he would give her purpose and impart strength. Though he never spoke it aloud, he wanted to love her without reservation, not simply saying the words in his heart. He only hoped she felt the same and healed from the wounds that ran deeper the flesh.

Still, he awaited her response with building apprehension. All the while, he tracked a lazy path across one breast - he wanted more than words. The act earned him a shiver and he craved more, his fingertips altering their path to graze her clavicle. Sebastian teased her lips with another kiss to coax an answer from her. He wanted this, needed her as reason left him. What he felt was something more than physical, more than water to quench a wildfire or the direst thirst. He could pretend, if just for the moment, that nothing loomed to taint that prospect.

Sebastian Vael's future demanded Maria Hawke, the former Champion of Kirkwall and scion of the Amell family - no one else could fill that void.

Pain of many flavours released its grasp, its sting faded by slow degrees. He felt her heart drumming beneath his fingers, quickened by his words and actions. In her eyes, he glimpsed a glimmer of the hope, the unspoken wish for completion, to be whole once more. Every fibre of his being begged to be the pillar of strength, to defend her from not only the world, but from herself. As Prince, he could give her so much more, spurred by duty and need. With Maria at his side, even only in company, he felt absolute. What wonders lay before them if only she accepted him entirely, the title and the man, and stepped beyond the ashes to find herself again?

Outside, the Free Marches grew darker, the shadows of pines blending into the grass. Night fell in the space before the dwindling flame burned brighter. After a long, bated silence, Maria leaned forward to whisper tender words in his ear. Demure but resolute, she submitted to the fate he gave her to took that first step forward.
"I am yours if you would have me."

Even if he had neither a copper nor crumb to his name, he would have throw away everything for that answer.

"No other would do."

Though it would take time to fully accept the life, the Maker and Andraste Herself had given him this blessing - he dared not squander it, if only he could justify the new stirrings in his soul. In the wake of hope, Starkhaven raised higher in mind, another promise yet untouched. If only it was farther away, he dared to imagine, but there was much to be done. No rest lay ahead on this wearisome path plagued by doubt and more.

Author's Note: To older readers - been on a rewriting spree... trying to make it more believable and enigmatic without sacrificing too much. New readers - I hope it's not too bad because I really didn't want to redo the whole; I'm too far into this to sit down and do a complete rewrite. All I hope for now is that it is a bit more balanced... and grammatically correct (I swear, sometimes I don't think I'm even conscious when I'm typing... bloody awful.) I'll be reposting chapters off and on.

Regardless, please accept this "thank you" for reading and I'd like to throw out another word of gratitude to Lywinis for taking an interest in me.