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Sebastian POV

Morning had been a haze; the Chant a blurry whisper that could not have ended soon enough. Chantry duties had kept me busy throughout. Candles needed to be kept alit. Tithes needed to be prepared. Especially now the Maker's flock had doubled in the face of the big bad wolf. Or, Qunari, as it were.

"Goodness, child." Elthina chuckled lightly. "A mother with a babe at her knee would not bounce it so."

With a sigh I stilled my leg, leaning into my chair with a creak of the wood and peering out the window. A dusting of snow had gathered on the sill, untouched.

It snowed very rarely in Kirkwall compared to Starkhaven.

"I am..." I began lamely, resting my chin upon my upturned palm. "Unsettled."

I did not meet her gaze, though I knew there would be nothing but understanding in it.

"You are returning to Starkhaven." Not a question. A statement. And without condemnation but, perhaps, spoken with a tad bit of sorrow.

"Aye. But…" Outside the wind blew harshly, taking my words with it.

"You have doubts?" She asked. "It is only natural."

I only sighed. Natural. What is natural about giving up everything?

"Sebastian, have I ever told you how I came to serve the Chantry?" I heard the smile in her voice and turned. Her blue eyes were shining as if reflecting the snow within.

"No. Though I have picked up bits and pieces from gossip throughout the years."

Elthina chuckled brightly, waiving a hand. "Goodness me, one can only imagine what you've heard."

"Nothing but good things, I assure you."

Not quite true. Though those tongues I'd silenced quickly.

Her Grace settled delicately into her chair and reached for the hot kettle.

"Perhaps a bit of tea first. We'll just keep this a little secret between us." I smiled as she poured herself some tea.

Bell wouldn't arrive for a few minutes yet.

"As you probably know, I was quite young when my parents passed."

I nodded.

She continued. "The Chantry took me in, a simple farm girl. I was taught how to read, given meals, a bed. And then," She took a small sip and a wistful smile graced her lips. "I met Renea."

"He was a Templar in training and I a Lay Sister naught but fifteen at the time but, Child, I was in love." She chuckled and it was infectious.

"I was in love," Her eyes twinkled. "And young, inexperienced and without direction; floating in a sea far from home and searching for anything to keep me afloat."

"Renea was my driftwood."

"Grand Cleric Evona was...less than pleased." Her voice dripped with amusement. "I believe she punished me by assigning me the most numbingly meager, tedious tasks. It did, however, give me time to reflect and let my mind wander."

Her Grace set her teacup down as gently as her smile. "At first my thoughts were of Renea. Of marriage and children. And then, one day, it changed. There was no grand revelation, no moment of haze lifting to pronounced clarity." she said. "I simply came to understand that, while Renea was my driftwood, the Chantry and the Maker was a bountiful island."

"I was not meant to stay afloat," A strand of silver hair brushed a weathered cheek as she shook her head. "But to grow and thrive."

I leaned forward, running my fingers through my hair.

"How do we know we are making the right decisions?"

"We don't." She said simply. All we can do is put faith in the Maker that the path he sets before us is the correct one."

Was this right? I wondered. Breaking all my vows, dethroning my cousin, scheming, plotting…

…it was a path wrought with thorny thicket and nettle.

The Chantry was easy. It was safe. Comfortable. Predictable.

Every day would be the same. Light the candles, listen to the Chant, tend to parishioners. And, when the sun disappeared behind the sea, lay my head upon my clumpy, flat and familiar pillow as I drift off to sleep.

The alternative?

Strife. Unpredictability. Headache. Heartache…

…A kingdom. A legacy. Excitement.

Bell.

As if on cue, there was a rasp on the door. Light as if made by a mouse.

Suddenly I was at attention, the softest of smiles blooming on my lips.

Her Graces's own lips curled and called out for the knocker to enter.

The door opened but a crack and Bell peaked in like a frightened doe testing crocodile infested waters.

"Ah, young Lady Hawke." Elthina motioned brightly to the seat next to me. "Please, please come in. Have a seat."

Bell sidled in, an impressive sight given her plethora of dress, and bowed her head reverently. "Your Grace." Then, with some difficulty, gathered her skirts and sat.

"My Lady Bell." I offered her my palm.

Bell's brow rose to her nobility as the Hawke women are want to do when put out and offered her hand.

Maker she was warm. And soft. Her slender fingers dimpled beautifully beneath my thumb as I pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

Delicious, Ithought. No, Devine.

A wondrous scent of lavender, rose water and soap wafted from her wrist. Proper, feminine scents. Her mother's doing, no doubt.

What scents would a lady such as mine prefer? A lady adorned in harmless pastels whose heart burned brighter than a thousand suns.

"Brother Vael." Bell acknowledged then delicately but firmly pulled her hand away. She smiled sweetly at Elthina. "Her Grace is too kind to allow me this invitation."

Elthina chuckled brightly, as she handed Bell her tea.

"Leandra always was the utmost epitome of etiquette." She said. "No need to be so formal, child."

Bell's cheeks flushed and she lifted her cup to her lips, took a sip and scrunched her nose. I offered her the sugar scuttle with a smirk.

She looked at it as if it offended her.

"No thank you, Brother Vael." Her voice was nothing but polite. Overly polite.

I frowned. Bell took another indignant sip, her nose only twitched.

"It is quite strong," She said. "It is Rivaini?"

Had I misspoke? I nursed my tea like a petulant child. Cinnamon and clove, if I'm not mistaken. Spicy with a slight hint of-

Maker, what did I do? I was no novice to a lady's ire but it had always been obvious. Bedding a sister or…I winced, unconsciously rubbing my cheek…twin.

"It is." Her Grace smiled. "Impressive."

Bell blushed again. "I…have a friend from there."

"Ah yes," Elthina mused. "The young lady with the marvelous thighs."

Tea shot up my nose and I coughed.

Bell giggled softly, weather it was at me or Her grace I did not know.

"Oh, do not look at me that way, Sebastian." Her Grace admonished. "The Maker has blessed me with eyes and ears, though they are not what they used to be. Lady Hawke and her cadre are the topic of much conversation as of late. Not all of it good, I'm afraid." She said.

"My sister," Bell began with a delicate, noble tongue. "I love her terribly, you know. Hawke always says she does the jobs no one else has the ba-erm…" she sputtered.

"The jobs no one else wants." Bell finished, quieter than she'd begun.

Horrified as she was, there was also pride in her voice. Pride for her sister, and it dawned on me…she's defending her. Her Grace meant no derision, I knew but Bell did not.

So there she was, shoulders set like a queen daring Her Grace to speak a wrong word about Hawke.

I could not help but smile. So quick to defend the ones she loves, even in the face of one such as Her Grace.

Elthina offered a disarming smile and a refill. For a moment, her gray eyes flashed to me and she nodded almost in approval.

"Through blinding mist, I climb a sheer cliff," Elthina recited. "The summit shrouded in fog, the base endlessly far beneath my feet. The Maker is the rock to which I cling."

Indignation had given away to a dreamy smile and Bell clung happily to her tea, seemingly reveling in the warmth.

"The Maker's will may be, at times, difficult to discern but there can be no question that he graced our city with his favor the day he sent your family to us."

"Oh," Bell whispered sheepishly. "You are too kind, Your Grace."

Conversation flowed like a sonnet between the two after that. I leaned back and was, for the first time today, at ease.

Outside these walls, there was a storm brewing. I was neither blind nor ignorant. Whispers reached even here in the Maker's house. Hateful whispers. Fearful whispers.

One leads to the other, I think.

Here, the talk was not of Qunari or politics but of plays, the Chant and…I smiled…how fond Lady Bell was of spiders. I barely kept my face straight as she regaled Her Grace with a story of how she'd once had a pet tarantula that had gotten loose and ended up in her mother's under things.

Elthina hated spiders.

The Maker has a purpose for every creature, She'd once said, that purpose can simply be carried out a fair distance away from me.

And yet, Bell's eyes had yet to turn my way.

Too soon, the Chantry bell rang out a deafening noon and Elthina placed her cup and saucer down gently on the table.

"What a refreshing morning." She rose elegantly and nodded to Bell. "Lady Hawke, It would greatly please me to host you again next Sunday. Alas, the Maker's work is never done and I am but a tool." She flashed me a brief smile. "Sebastian."

And, with that, we were alone.

Bell fiddled with the chiffon of her skirts.

"Would you allow me to escort you home?"

I could have sworn I heard her click her tongue but she stood and gave a curt nod.

"Mother would appreciate that." She said, and then headed toward the door without a glance and I followed, trailing like a hurt puppy.

Maker, what did I do?

Bell's POV

Winter normally gripped Kirkwall like oil grips water. Now, my skirts were gripping enough winter for the both of them. Honestly, I was a frost slug.

Normally, the courtyard would be a bustle with traders, entertainers and people just milling about. Today, there were but a few merchants, their tents bowing under the weight of snow. Children, apple cheeked and wrapped in warm fleece chased each other with muddy-white balls.

Amazing the difference coin made. To the people of Hightown, snow just happened. Children could play until their little hearts content and then run along inside for some warm cocoa by the fire.

Snow in Lowtown was sharing what little tattered blankets you had and staving off sick. Perhaps I should ask Hawke to take some blankets to the shelter in Lowtown. Nice, warm blankets. Well made. Thick. They would survive the winter or be sewn into warmer vests. Either way, more use than we had for them, collecting moths in storage.

"Bell."

Sebastian's voice, hoarse with cold broke me from my thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"Can we talk?" His hand landed gently on my bicep. "Alone?"

I squared my shoulders like I'd been practicing. I was getting quite good if the mirror was any judge.

Yet as I turned to face him, what little fire that had kept me stewing sizzled out with a pathetic puff of smoke.

Maker, what right did this man have to be so…so...so-

Infuriatingly handsome.

I wanted to curl my finger around that errant strand of auburn hair ticking his forehead and just bloody set it on fire.

Just a spark. Nothing balding.

"Where do you presume we go?" I asked calmly.

Rather than answering, his hand slid down to grasp my fingers and led me across the courtyard to a little alcove hidden partly by an ill cared for ivy trellis.

It smelled of dead plants and sick.

I would have sat on the bench were it not for the thick crust of bird drippings.

"You wished to talk?" I said softly, eyes cast down at the stone. I felt comfortable warmth graze my frozen cheek.

"Aye." He said. "I would know what I've done to make you unhappy."

"I am not unhappy." I countered.

"And yet you won't look at me." He chuckled dryly then sighed. I imagined him running his long, archer's fingers through that wonderful hair of his.

I nibbled the inside of my cheek. I was being childish, I knew. Lusting after a Chantry Brother, I'm surprised the Maker has not sent a bolt of lighting to strike me where I stand.

What would Hawke do? I blushed. Nevermind.

Square your shoulders, Bell. Mother does it all the time. Square your shoulders, draw yourself up and no quivering, Bell I mean it. Any quivering out of you and you shan't be reading this evening. No, The Pirate's Lust can stay right under the mattress.

Right.

"Brother Vael." Good start, no whittling about. "Why is it that you find such amusement in toying with me as of late? I find it quite churlish."

Churlish. Good word. Nice touch.

I sounded just like the women at mother's tea group. Lady Ashberry would be shaking in her highfalutin knickers.

I sounded like a genuine aristocratic, hand-fed woman….

...I sounded like a complete tit.

My shoulders deflated a bit.

"Toy with you?" Sebastian's voice was soft then he chuckled. "Maker, Bell."

I huffed, and hugged my stomach. No quivering.

My lip was not quivering, I was cold. It was shivering. Quite different.

Soft leather grazed my cheek and settled under my chin. Sebastian gently forced my gaze up and, sweet Andraste that crooked smile would be the death of me.

"Sweetheart." His accent did naughty things to the letter R. "Mo Leannan." He leaned in.

His breath smelled of Cinnamon and Clove, and now he was close; so close, that my chest grazed his with every erratic breath.

Icy blue eyes locked on to mine.

"Mo dhuine beutiful, chan eil fios agad air an t-grèim a th 'agad thairis air mo chridhe."

Blazing Andraste in the Black City. That voice should be illegal. That low, whispering, velvety voice.

Suddenly I was quite warm and uncomfortable in my dress.

I swallowed harder than I would have liked and asked. "A-and that means..."

So much for not quivering.

"My beautiful one," Sebastian thumbed my cheek with a gloved hand as his voice flowed as reverently as if he were speaking words of the Chant. "You do not know what hold you have over my heart."

"I-" I worried my lip. "Do not."

The corner of his lip curled devilishly. "Then allow me to show you, my lady."

Sebastian closed the gap with a soft, nearly chaste kiss; soft as a butterfly landing on a petal and gone just as quickly.

Stomach aflutter, I struggled for breath for something to say for anything that seemed appropriate. He was still so very close.

Sweet, hot breaths caressed my lips. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears and I'd lost all feeling in my legs. It was wonderful.

"Could we," I began, my voice much rougher than I had every heard. I cleared my throat. "Could we do that again? It was…" I paused. "Nice."

I felt his chuckle reverberate in my chest.

"Whatever my lady desires."

His lips were rough and tasted faintly of cinnamon, I felt his hand snake around my waist and he pulled me closer than I had thought possible.

Maker, I am in heaven.

"A-Hem." Perhaps I was wrong. "Brother Vael."

It was a shrill voice; one I knew. Though in my haze I could not put a name to it.

"Lady Dushar." Sebastian said evenly as I all but his my face in his chest. "May I help you?"

Ah, Lady Dushar; a portrait came to mind of a rather plump lady weighed down with cheap jewels who always appeared somewhat…soggy.

"This is most improper." She said. "The Grand Cleric shall hear of this, we are quite friendly."

"Please do." He said cordially. "Her Grace will be quite happy with the news."

"Sebastian." I moaned, gripping his lapel. Please, Maker, just open the earth and swallow me whole. A bolt of lightning? No? Perhaps another Blight is in order; localized entirely in me.

"Do not let me detain you, Lady Dushar." That was not a request but a command.

Lady Dushar huffed and the spikey ting of her Orlisian crystal heals faded as she walked away. I emerged from Sebastian's chest red-faced and sucking in freezing air that hit like daggers in my throat.

"She is not wrong." I whispered. "You are a Chantry Brother and-"

"No," He smiled. "I broke my vows the day I decided to avenge my family. For so long I did not know what I wanted, where I wanted to be. Where the Maker wanted me." He chuckled warmly, stroking my cheek. "In truth I still do not but this wonderful smile," His thumb played over my bottom lip. "Gives me strength and hope to believe that whatever is to come will be brighter."

Brighter. I smiled.

I did not know if he was talking of Starkhaven, I wanted to ask but it felt…inopportune. Surely if he planned on going home, it would be to fight for the throne? I shivered. Just the idea made me want to latch on to him and not let him step foot on a ship.

His cousin, I'd looked him up in one of mother's dusty tomes of nobility and royalty. Goran Vael had but a short blurb and that was good. Those with longer tend toward madness.

He might not be a cruel man but people in power tend to want to stay there short of melting their arses to the chair. Of course-

I gasped suddenly and Sebastian frowned.

"Noon rang more than half an hour ago." I gathered my skirts hurriedly. "Mother is going to kill me."

And with that, I took off running across the courtyard; a red-faced gray blur of a mage, leaving my smirking Prince behind.