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peopleofthedas2011-04-03 12:40 am
sagacious_rage) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-04-03 12:40 am
Let Love Go, Chapter 5: I Don't Know Any Colleen
Title: I Don't Know Any Colleen
Rating: PG for alcohol and implied drug use
Pairing F!Hawke/Sebastian
Warnings: none
Word Count: 3759
Story Summary: Laica doesn't appreciate being forgotten
Author's Note: from a suggestion byzevgirl, and betaed by the inimitable decantate
I Don't Know Any Colleen
The minute Cullen walked into the estate, he knew he was out of his element. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, really, when Laica handed him the engraved invitation with exuberant promises of a “really good time!”
In all honesty, he should have declined. He had recognized her as an apostate the minute he met her, and fraternizing with the girl would surely lead to all sorts of problems if Meredith ever found out.
But still, there was something that kept him from taking her into the Circle. Part of the reason was inertia. He simply didn’t have enough hours in the day to track down each and every single apostate in Kirkwall (where were they all coming from? And why aren’t they going back?) There was also the recent proliferation of blonde Tranquil that struck Cullen as off, somehow. He didn’t have enough hours in the day to track down that little phenomena, either, but was unwilling to expose the girl to whatever was being done to the other women. And, finally, after seeing her and her friends fight he wasn’t entirely certain there were enough Templars in Kirkwall to drag her in if she was unwilling. And that would make things even more awkward for Carver. The poor boy didn’t need any help in that regard.
And so he found himself at the Hawke estate with Ser Thrask and Keran. The younger seemed to be feeling as awkward as Cullen, which was some comfort. Thrask was grinning broadly at the scene.
And what a scene it was. They made their way through the foyer, which was full of mercs; Red Iron, if Cullen recognized their gear correctly. Upon crossing into the main hall, they were greeted with an equal number of city guards, Fereldan refugees, and employees of the Blooming Rose. There was an odd smell in the air, like peat smoke but sweeter, and empty wine bottles were scattered everywhere.
In the center of the room was a group of singers playing various instruments. The majority of the guest were dancing and drinking, and a number had found various pieces of furniture to use for various stages of lovemaking.
This had been a terrible idea, he concluded, and he was about to just turn and go back to the barracks when he was stopped in his tracks by the girl of the hour herself.
“Cullen!” Laica cried with infectious delight, bounding over to them, “Thrask! And Keran! This is so marvelous, I wasn't sure any of you would come at all. But come in, make yourselves comfortable! Here, have some wine. Fenris brought plenty. Do any of you like spindleweed? Because we have a smoke room over in where I think the library is supposed to go.” She giggled, her eyes slightly glassy.
There were probably better words for what Laica was wearing than “scandalous”, but that was all that Cullen could think of. It certainly wasn't a “dress”. In fact, it seemed to be simply a length of purple silk that somebody had cut a hole in the middle of to fit her head through, and then tied about the waist with a wide silver ribbon. And then cut some more, until it was open almost the all the way to her navel.
“Thank you, a glass of wine would be lovely,” Thrask said graciously. “But, my dear, aren't you a bit cold?”
Laica laughed again and twirled, exposing so much of her legs that Cullen began to feel dizzy. “Do you like it? Isabela and I made it.”
“Now, now, Laica,” chided a smirking elf as he wrapped and arm around her waist. “I helped with the concept.”
She giggled. Cullen's mouth when dry and he tried to find something else to look at. “You did, Fenris,” she cooed. “Or you watched, and gave us the directions of 'Lower', 'Tighter'.”
Fenris shrugged. “I know what I like, ” was all he said before sauntering off.
“So,” Laica linked arms with Cullen and Thrask, leading them into the crowd. “Is anybody else from the Chantry going to be joining you?”
“Oh, right, that,” Cullen clutched the topic like a lifeline. “Your brother sends his regards. He was not granted leave to come.” Which wasn't exactly true. But it probably wouldn't please Laica to hear what Carver had actually said when presented with the invitation.
“Carver?” she repeated, eyes trying to focus. “Oh! Carver! Right. That is a shame. I wonder if... Oh, bother,” she muttered under her breath before scampering up the stairs.
Cullen looked up to see what had caught her attention just in time to see an elf woman leap from the railing and start swinging on the chandelier.
Yes, he was most certainly out of his element.
~*~
Fenris had to admit, however grudgingly, that the party was much more entertaining than he had expected. And not just because of the giggling girl who was snuggled up next to him. He was just on the right side of pleasantly drunk, where the other's antics amused instead of enraged him. He had watched as the young Templar Keran managed to flirt with every female apostate that had wandered in, blushing in surprise each time. He had listened as Varric recounted their recent adventures in the Deep Roads to an enthralled audience. The dwarf hadn't quite polished this story to perfection yet, but he was getting close. He had dodged as Merrill and Sandal chased Laica's dog away from the spilled wine. But perhaps the greatest entertainment was found in Laica's deft sidestepping of Anders' attempts to get her to sleep with him. It was almost entertaining enough to make up for the fact that she wasn't about to sleep with him, either.
Which was odd. She seemed to like him well enough. He often had the pleasure of her company since she had moved to High Town. But there was always a wall between them, some impenetrable barrier she had erected and defended so expertly he had not yet found a weakness, and was beginning to doubt that he ever would.
It was possible that she was exclusively interested in women, Fenris realized. It made more sense than any other explanation he could come up with.
Somehow, Anders got his hands on a lute, and took it over to the stairs where he sat and strummed mournfully. Almost immediately, he was surrounded with a swooning crowd of young women, and a few men.
“Oh,” the girl on Fenris' lap sighed. “He's so... tragic.”
“That's one word for it,” Fenris muttered into his bottle.
“Hm?” the girl asked, nuzzling his neck.
“Oh, nothing.” Fenris raised his bottle in a toast to Anders as he gamely struggled through a few melancholy chords. “May he be blessed with what he seeks. Or at least with something blond enough that he calms down.”
The girl sat up and squinted at him quizzically, which wasn't a good look for her at all. But, thankfully, before she could say anything Laica provided a commotion.
“Maker's breath, Anders! What are you doing to my lute?” She demanded, hands on hips.
“I'm playing it,” he responded without looking at her.
“No you're not, you're torturing it,” Laica reached for the instrument and he pulled it out of her grasp.
“I think his playing is lovely,” sighed one of the girls.
“No you don't,” Laica shook her head. “You think he's lovely so you're willing to overlook his utter lack of talent. And he is lovely. Just look at you,” Laica crouched in front of him and pulled his chin up. “Why don't you take a few of your adoring crowd upstairs and impress them with your soulfulness some more and you can all have yourselves a good time, eh?”
Anders furrowed his brow and looked up at her. “But I don't want any of them.”
Laica sighed. “What if I promised to sing you something you like, hm? In fact, I'll even let you pick!”
Anders was quiet for a long time, and bowed his head as if he were considering the lute. But Fenris would have been very surprised if he was actually looking at the instrument and not Laica's impressive display of decolletage. Finally, he looked up and handed it to her. “Colleen.”
She grinned broadly. “Am I blessed among all women?” she asked impishly before skipping to the middle of the room. “You'll have to help me out,” she said, stamping her foot in a regular rhythm. As the guests picked up the beat, she unleashed a dazzlingly quick waterfall of notes from the battered old lute, spinning in a slow circle. (Which did marvelous things for her backside.) “I'll tell it as I best know how,” she began to sing the old Fereldan song, “And that's the way it was told to me. I--”
And she stopped dead in her tracks as the most recent guest did the same.
~*~
“Lady Hawke,” Sebastian said, “I apologize for the lateness of my arrival, I only recently returned from Hasmal.”
“Oh, no matter! We're just getting started,” Laica laughed. “I didn't think you would be coming, it's so good to see you! And I'm no lady,” she rambled, cheeks blushing slightly. “I just came into a bit of money. Would you like some wine?”
Before he had a chance to respond, somebody handed him a half-full bottle. When in Tevinter, he thought as he took a swig. And was surprised at the quality. “This is an excellent vintage,” he exclaimed, “where did you get it?”
“Um,” Laica bit her lip and glanced back at a white-haired elf in the corner. “It's better that you don't ask those kind of questions. Oh! But I have something for you,” she grabbed his hand and began to lead him to the stairs.
“You promised us a song,” the elf cried out. “You can't leave now.”
“Fine, fine,” she rolled her eyes. “I hope you like music,” she said bashfully, as she resumed the song she had been playing when he came in.
“I love music,” he said, settling on a stool. “I was taught to play as a child. It's one of the luxuries I have found myself unable to give up.”
“Marvelous,” she grinned, and launched into her song.
He had heard the song before, from Fereldan traveling minstrels that found their way to the Marches. But they always seemed to imbue it with a sort of sadness, which Laica rejected. In her hands, the song was not a dirge, but an exultation. She danced as she sang. It was utterly mesmerizing.
Sebastian found himself feeling embarrassed that he had nearly decided not to attend. When he found the invitation waiting for him in his room at the Chantry, he couldn't remember who Laica Hawke was, and couldn't imagine why such a person would desire his presence.
But then he considered the fact that she was living in High Town. That meant she had money, something he was in dire need of. And perhaps with that money would come useful contacts in other cities. It was worth a night of stuffy conversation and dull jokes if it could get him closer to his goal.
He certainly wasn't expecting this, and found himself feeling quite light-headed by the time the lovely Fereldan girl finished her song. Whether it was from the wine, the smoke, or the way her skirt teased at revealing just a bit more of her leg each time she swayed or spun, he could not be sure. He and the other guests burst into wild applause as she bowed and handed the lute back to Anders.
“You aren't going to sing again,” Sebastian asked as she came to him, feeling oddly disappointed.
“No, silly,” she laughed, pulling him up. “I told you that I have something for you, and I would like to give it-- Just what are you smirking at, Fenris?” she demanded of the elf.
“Nothing, just. Things making sense,” he quipped before hurling the mostly-empty bottle at the wall.
“Well, that's certainly good news,” she said, sidestepping the shattered glass and leading Sebastian up the stairs.
After the crowd in the foyer, the main hall, and the upstairs hall, it surprised Sebastian to discover that the guests had left Laica's bedchambers untouched. As wild as the celebration was, they all retained a respect for her that left this area alone.
And she had invited him alone into this space. As cavernous as the room was, and as far apart from her as he kept himself, it still felt intensely intimate. He began to feel uneasy. She went to a locked chest by the fireplace, knelt down, and rummaged through it.
The silence was unnerving. “Have you lived in High Town long?” he asked, trying to spark up conversation. He barely knew this woman, what could she possibly have to give to him?
Laica laughed, which strangely put him at ease. “Did you notice my friends? No, I have not lived here long. Just moved in about a week ago. Took a while to clear out all the slave smugglers who've been using this place for the last twenty years or so.” She did not even try to hide the disgust in her voice. “Ah, here it is,” she said triumphantly, holding up a small wooden box.
“You should know I've taken vows of poverty,” he said, discomfort returning. “I cannot, in good faith, accept a gift of any value. It would be better if you donated it directly to the Chantry.”
She regarded him a moment, that sadness that so haunted him returning to her eyes. “I don't think the Chantry would have much use for this. And nobody would pay anything worth donating if I tried to sell it.” She took his hand and pressed the box into it. “Will you accept it if I promise to donate a sovereign in your name?”
“Very well,” he conceded, curiosity piqued by her description. He opened the box to find a locket that looked strangely familiar. “How did you know?” he asked, feeling as if the ground had dropped out from under his feet. “Why did you go to the trouble?”
“You should probably open it,” she said, the smile returning to her voice, “before you think me completely mad.”
He opened the locket to find a tiny portrait of himself on one side, and “Nothing that He has wrought shall be lost—Trials 1:14” engraved on the other. “Where did you get this? ” he asked, temper rising. The room had grown oppressively close, he struggled to breathe. “How did you--”
“Maker, you've gone pale,” she gasped. “Here, come out on the balcony and get some air.”
She opened the doors and he followed her out. The air rushed into his lungs as the world slowly righted itself. “I apologize,” he said, feeling ashamed. “I don't know what came over me.”
“So it is you in the picture,” she said. “I saw the Starkhaven crest on the front and I thought the picture looked like you.”
He turned the locket over in his hands, like it held some sort of magic that could undo time. “It belonged to my mother.” He had never known what she kept in the locket. He had assumed pictures of his brothers. But in fact it was an image of him that she had kept close to her heart all those years. After everything he had said, after everything he had done. It was too much.
Laica leaned against the railing. “I found it on one of those mercs you had me kill. I meant to give it to you before, but it slipped my mind. I'm sorry.”
“Don't be,” he said emphatically. “This is... more than I deserve.”
He looked up at her, and she was smiling but the sadness was again in her eyes. “What happened in Hasmal?” she asked.
The angry pit of frustration sucked him in. “Turncoat lick spittles,” he muttered, clenching his fists. The locket bit into his palm, but he paid it no heed. “They say all the right things to my face but as soon as I leave they're paying their tribute to my usurper cousin. I cannot manage allies such as these on my own. I need somebody I can depend upon.”
“What about Dumar?” she asked, turning and leaning her elbows on the railing, looking out over the city. He tried to not notice the way her skirts drifted in the breeze, or the inviting curve of her back.
“He's got his own problems,” he shook his head and went to the railing as well, putting her out of his line of vision. “And since most of them come clad in chantry robes, he's hardly inclined to help me.”
She was quiet a long time. “It seems to me that they're thinking of a weak Starkhaven as a benefit. They can probably make trade deals in their favor, profit off of your cousin's incompetence.”
“Yes,” he agreed, gripping the railing. “By the time I finally regain what is rightfully mine, there may not be much left.”
“Well, you just have to convince the other princes that a weak Starkhaven is a threat,” she mused. “If there were some outside force, say, Tevinter or Orlais or another Blight, who would rally the cities to defend the Free Marches? What other city has the resources or location to do such a thing?” She shrugged. “Of course, what do I know? I'm just an uneducated refugee.”
Sebastian considered her words. There was wisdom in them, however much it was couched in self-deprecation. “You make a good point. I shall consider that approach the next time I embark.” He sighed. “I had been trying to appeal to their honor.”
“Honor will only get you so far,” she said in a cynical tone. “And it's a lot to expect the ruling power of anything to think of 'honor' above their own pockets and the well-being of their own people.”
“You are right,” he said, feeling strangely sad. “Perhaps I've been in the Chantry too long to make much of a politician.” He turned the locket over in his hands. “Oh, listen to me. Here I am at this lovely party, monopolizing your time with my own woes. I apologize.”
“Don't,” she grinned, leaning towards him. “I needed a break from all the commotion. And besides, I like talking to you. You're interesting.”
She was so lovely and the wine was going straight to his head. He had to stop this before it got out of hand. “You should know,” he said as gently as he could. “That poverty was not the only vow I took.”
She smiled again and looked away. “Fair enough. But you took no vow foreswearing friendship, I hope?”
“I don't think the Maker, even at His most demanding, would expect such a sacrifice of his servants,” Sebastian replied, feeling relief at how easily the situation was resolved.
“Well, I don't know about you,” Laica shivered and stood up, “but I'm not dressed for this kind of weath--”
“Laica!” a frantic-looking young Dalish woman burst onto the balcony. “Come quick! Somebody set the library rug on fire!”
“Andraste on the spit, Merrill,” Laica cursed, running back into the house. “Did nobody think to put it out?”
~*~
Laica awoke the next morning on the floor of the kitchen, wrapped up in a bearskin rug. “Oh, my head,” she groaned as the room lurched around her.
“Rise and shine, bearskins,” Varric shook her. “Blondie's offered to help out with the hangovers.”
“Oh Maker, really? Anders, where are you?” Laica scrambled to her feet. “I need you!” Her mouth felt like some small rodent had crawled in and died. Her stomach flipped.
“Fine, fine,” Anders muttered, coming in from the other room. He gently touched her head and relieved the tight bands of headache that had wrapped her skull.
“Oh you are a gift. A gift straight from the Golden City,” she moaned as her stomach settled. “I need some water.”
“If there's nothing else you need, I'm going to go back to the Clinic.” Anders said, heading for the basement.
“I might come down later,” Laica said as she grabbed the water pitcher. “There's some mail I got yesterday I want to discuss with you.”
Anders nodded and left.
Isabela waited until he was gone to start gossiping. “So,” she quirked an eyebrow at Laica as she peeled an orange. “Any interesting... developments last night? You were missing for quite a while with Ser Chantry.”
“Ugh,” Laica huffed. “Well, turns out the locket was his mother's. And I don't know what that means, but he almost fainted when I gave it to him.” She gulped down some water, it tasted cool and sweet on her fuzzy tongue. “However. He then informed me that he took a vow of chastity.”
Isabela and Varric broke into uproarious laughter. “Really? Ouch!” Varric made a pained expression. “After all that work just … nothing?”
“I managed to impress him with my political astuteness, though,” she said haughtily. “So, at least there's that.”
Varric and Isabela laughed even harder. “You? Politically astute?” Isabela handed her half of the orange. “Since when?”
“Since he decided to retake his crown by appealing to their sense of honor,” Laica rolled her eyes. “At any rate, for as much of an utter failure as my plan was, at least I succeeded in one thing.”
“And what was that?” Varric rocked his chair back and sipped some tea.
“There's no way he's ever going to forget who I am. Ever. Again.”
~*~
A/N: The song I'm referencing is Colleen by Joanna Newsom. The lyrics are really cool, and you can find them here, among other places.
Rating: PG for alcohol and implied drug use
Pairing F!Hawke/Sebastian
Warnings: none
Word Count: 3759
Story Summary: Laica doesn't appreciate being forgotten
Author's Note: from a suggestion by
zevgirl, and betaed by the inimitable decantateThe minute Cullen walked into the estate, he knew he was out of his element. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, really, when Laica handed him the engraved invitation with exuberant promises of a “really good time!”
In all honesty, he should have declined. He had recognized her as an apostate the minute he met her, and fraternizing with the girl would surely lead to all sorts of problems if Meredith ever found out.
But still, there was something that kept him from taking her into the Circle. Part of the reason was inertia. He simply didn’t have enough hours in the day to track down each and every single apostate in Kirkwall (where were they all coming from? And why aren’t they going back?) There was also the recent proliferation of blonde Tranquil that struck Cullen as off, somehow. He didn’t have enough hours in the day to track down that little phenomena, either, but was unwilling to expose the girl to whatever was being done to the other women. And, finally, after seeing her and her friends fight he wasn’t entirely certain there were enough Templars in Kirkwall to drag her in if she was unwilling. And that would make things even more awkward for Carver. The poor boy didn’t need any help in that regard.
And so he found himself at the Hawke estate with Ser Thrask and Keran. The younger seemed to be feeling as awkward as Cullen, which was some comfort. Thrask was grinning broadly at the scene.
And what a scene it was. They made their way through the foyer, which was full of mercs; Red Iron, if Cullen recognized their gear correctly. Upon crossing into the main hall, they were greeted with an equal number of city guards, Fereldan refugees, and employees of the Blooming Rose. There was an odd smell in the air, like peat smoke but sweeter, and empty wine bottles were scattered everywhere.
In the center of the room was a group of singers playing various instruments. The majority of the guest were dancing and drinking, and a number had found various pieces of furniture to use for various stages of lovemaking.
This had been a terrible idea, he concluded, and he was about to just turn and go back to the barracks when he was stopped in his tracks by the girl of the hour herself.
“Cullen!” Laica cried with infectious delight, bounding over to them, “Thrask! And Keran! This is so marvelous, I wasn't sure any of you would come at all. But come in, make yourselves comfortable! Here, have some wine. Fenris brought plenty. Do any of you like spindleweed? Because we have a smoke room over in where I think the library is supposed to go.” She giggled, her eyes slightly glassy.
There were probably better words for what Laica was wearing than “scandalous”, but that was all that Cullen could think of. It certainly wasn't a “dress”. In fact, it seemed to be simply a length of purple silk that somebody had cut a hole in the middle of to fit her head through, and then tied about the waist with a wide silver ribbon. And then cut some more, until it was open almost the all the way to her navel.
“Thank you, a glass of wine would be lovely,” Thrask said graciously. “But, my dear, aren't you a bit cold?”
Laica laughed again and twirled, exposing so much of her legs that Cullen began to feel dizzy. “Do you like it? Isabela and I made it.”
“Now, now, Laica,” chided a smirking elf as he wrapped and arm around her waist. “I helped with the concept.”
She giggled. Cullen's mouth when dry and he tried to find something else to look at. “You did, Fenris,” she cooed. “Or you watched, and gave us the directions of 'Lower', 'Tighter'.”
Fenris shrugged. “I know what I like, ” was all he said before sauntering off.
“So,” Laica linked arms with Cullen and Thrask, leading them into the crowd. “Is anybody else from the Chantry going to be joining you?”
“Oh, right, that,” Cullen clutched the topic like a lifeline. “Your brother sends his regards. He was not granted leave to come.” Which wasn't exactly true. But it probably wouldn't please Laica to hear what Carver had actually said when presented with the invitation.
“Carver?” she repeated, eyes trying to focus. “Oh! Carver! Right. That is a shame. I wonder if... Oh, bother,” she muttered under her breath before scampering up the stairs.
Cullen looked up to see what had caught her attention just in time to see an elf woman leap from the railing and start swinging on the chandelier.
Yes, he was most certainly out of his element.
Fenris had to admit, however grudgingly, that the party was much more entertaining than he had expected. And not just because of the giggling girl who was snuggled up next to him. He was just on the right side of pleasantly drunk, where the other's antics amused instead of enraged him. He had watched as the young Templar Keran managed to flirt with every female apostate that had wandered in, blushing in surprise each time. He had listened as Varric recounted their recent adventures in the Deep Roads to an enthralled audience. The dwarf hadn't quite polished this story to perfection yet, but he was getting close. He had dodged as Merrill and Sandal chased Laica's dog away from the spilled wine. But perhaps the greatest entertainment was found in Laica's deft sidestepping of Anders' attempts to get her to sleep with him. It was almost entertaining enough to make up for the fact that she wasn't about to sleep with him, either.
Which was odd. She seemed to like him well enough. He often had the pleasure of her company since she had moved to High Town. But there was always a wall between them, some impenetrable barrier she had erected and defended so expertly he had not yet found a weakness, and was beginning to doubt that he ever would.
It was possible that she was exclusively interested in women, Fenris realized. It made more sense than any other explanation he could come up with.
Somehow, Anders got his hands on a lute, and took it over to the stairs where he sat and strummed mournfully. Almost immediately, he was surrounded with a swooning crowd of young women, and a few men.
“Oh,” the girl on Fenris' lap sighed. “He's so... tragic.”
“That's one word for it,” Fenris muttered into his bottle.
“Hm?” the girl asked, nuzzling his neck.
“Oh, nothing.” Fenris raised his bottle in a toast to Anders as he gamely struggled through a few melancholy chords. “May he be blessed with what he seeks. Or at least with something blond enough that he calms down.”
The girl sat up and squinted at him quizzically, which wasn't a good look for her at all. But, thankfully, before she could say anything Laica provided a commotion.
“Maker's breath, Anders! What are you doing to my lute?” She demanded, hands on hips.
“I'm playing it,” he responded without looking at her.
“No you're not, you're torturing it,” Laica reached for the instrument and he pulled it out of her grasp.
“I think his playing is lovely,” sighed one of the girls.
“No you don't,” Laica shook her head. “You think he's lovely so you're willing to overlook his utter lack of talent. And he is lovely. Just look at you,” Laica crouched in front of him and pulled his chin up. “Why don't you take a few of your adoring crowd upstairs and impress them with your soulfulness some more and you can all have yourselves a good time, eh?”
Anders furrowed his brow and looked up at her. “But I don't want any of them.”
Laica sighed. “What if I promised to sing you something you like, hm? In fact, I'll even let you pick!”
Anders was quiet for a long time, and bowed his head as if he were considering the lute. But Fenris would have been very surprised if he was actually looking at the instrument and not Laica's impressive display of decolletage. Finally, he looked up and handed it to her. “Colleen.”
She grinned broadly. “Am I blessed among all women?” she asked impishly before skipping to the middle of the room. “You'll have to help me out,” she said, stamping her foot in a regular rhythm. As the guests picked up the beat, she unleashed a dazzlingly quick waterfall of notes from the battered old lute, spinning in a slow circle. (Which did marvelous things for her backside.) “I'll tell it as I best know how,” she began to sing the old Fereldan song, “And that's the way it was told to me. I--”
And she stopped dead in her tracks as the most recent guest did the same.
“Lady Hawke,” Sebastian said, “I apologize for the lateness of my arrival, I only recently returned from Hasmal.”
“Oh, no matter! We're just getting started,” Laica laughed. “I didn't think you would be coming, it's so good to see you! And I'm no lady,” she rambled, cheeks blushing slightly. “I just came into a bit of money. Would you like some wine?”
Before he had a chance to respond, somebody handed him a half-full bottle. When in Tevinter, he thought as he took a swig. And was surprised at the quality. “This is an excellent vintage,” he exclaimed, “where did you get it?”
“Um,” Laica bit her lip and glanced back at a white-haired elf in the corner. “It's better that you don't ask those kind of questions. Oh! But I have something for you,” she grabbed his hand and began to lead him to the stairs.
“You promised us a song,” the elf cried out. “You can't leave now.”
“Fine, fine,” she rolled her eyes. “I hope you like music,” she said bashfully, as she resumed the song she had been playing when he came in.
“I love music,” he said, settling on a stool. “I was taught to play as a child. It's one of the luxuries I have found myself unable to give up.”
“Marvelous,” she grinned, and launched into her song.
He had heard the song before, from Fereldan traveling minstrels that found their way to the Marches. But they always seemed to imbue it with a sort of sadness, which Laica rejected. In her hands, the song was not a dirge, but an exultation. She danced as she sang. It was utterly mesmerizing.
Sebastian found himself feeling embarrassed that he had nearly decided not to attend. When he found the invitation waiting for him in his room at the Chantry, he couldn't remember who Laica Hawke was, and couldn't imagine why such a person would desire his presence.
But then he considered the fact that she was living in High Town. That meant she had money, something he was in dire need of. And perhaps with that money would come useful contacts in other cities. It was worth a night of stuffy conversation and dull jokes if it could get him closer to his goal.
He certainly wasn't expecting this, and found himself feeling quite light-headed by the time the lovely Fereldan girl finished her song. Whether it was from the wine, the smoke, or the way her skirt teased at revealing just a bit more of her leg each time she swayed or spun, he could not be sure. He and the other guests burst into wild applause as she bowed and handed the lute back to Anders.
“You aren't going to sing again,” Sebastian asked as she came to him, feeling oddly disappointed.
“No, silly,” she laughed, pulling him up. “I told you that I have something for you, and I would like to give it-- Just what are you smirking at, Fenris?” she demanded of the elf.
“Nothing, just. Things making sense,” he quipped before hurling the mostly-empty bottle at the wall.
“Well, that's certainly good news,” she said, sidestepping the shattered glass and leading Sebastian up the stairs.
After the crowd in the foyer, the main hall, and the upstairs hall, it surprised Sebastian to discover that the guests had left Laica's bedchambers untouched. As wild as the celebration was, they all retained a respect for her that left this area alone.
And she had invited him alone into this space. As cavernous as the room was, and as far apart from her as he kept himself, it still felt intensely intimate. He began to feel uneasy. She went to a locked chest by the fireplace, knelt down, and rummaged through it.
The silence was unnerving. “Have you lived in High Town long?” he asked, trying to spark up conversation. He barely knew this woman, what could she possibly have to give to him?
Laica laughed, which strangely put him at ease. “Did you notice my friends? No, I have not lived here long. Just moved in about a week ago. Took a while to clear out all the slave smugglers who've been using this place for the last twenty years or so.” She did not even try to hide the disgust in her voice. “Ah, here it is,” she said triumphantly, holding up a small wooden box.
“You should know I've taken vows of poverty,” he said, discomfort returning. “I cannot, in good faith, accept a gift of any value. It would be better if you donated it directly to the Chantry.”
She regarded him a moment, that sadness that so haunted him returning to her eyes. “I don't think the Chantry would have much use for this. And nobody would pay anything worth donating if I tried to sell it.” She took his hand and pressed the box into it. “Will you accept it if I promise to donate a sovereign in your name?”
“Very well,” he conceded, curiosity piqued by her description. He opened the box to find a locket that looked strangely familiar. “How did you know?” he asked, feeling as if the ground had dropped out from under his feet. “Why did you go to the trouble?”
“You should probably open it,” she said, the smile returning to her voice, “before you think me completely mad.”
He opened the locket to find a tiny portrait of himself on one side, and “Nothing that He has wrought shall be lost—Trials 1:14” engraved on the other. “Where did you get this? ” he asked, temper rising. The room had grown oppressively close, he struggled to breathe. “How did you--”
“Maker, you've gone pale,” she gasped. “Here, come out on the balcony and get some air.”
She opened the doors and he followed her out. The air rushed into his lungs as the world slowly righted itself. “I apologize,” he said, feeling ashamed. “I don't know what came over me.”
“So it is you in the picture,” she said. “I saw the Starkhaven crest on the front and I thought the picture looked like you.”
He turned the locket over in his hands, like it held some sort of magic that could undo time. “It belonged to my mother.” He had never known what she kept in the locket. He had assumed pictures of his brothers. But in fact it was an image of him that she had kept close to her heart all those years. After everything he had said, after everything he had done. It was too much.
Laica leaned against the railing. “I found it on one of those mercs you had me kill. I meant to give it to you before, but it slipped my mind. I'm sorry.”
“Don't be,” he said emphatically. “This is... more than I deserve.”
He looked up at her, and she was smiling but the sadness was again in her eyes. “What happened in Hasmal?” she asked.
The angry pit of frustration sucked him in. “Turncoat lick spittles,” he muttered, clenching his fists. The locket bit into his palm, but he paid it no heed. “They say all the right things to my face but as soon as I leave they're paying their tribute to my usurper cousin. I cannot manage allies such as these on my own. I need somebody I can depend upon.”
“What about Dumar?” she asked, turning and leaning her elbows on the railing, looking out over the city. He tried to not notice the way her skirts drifted in the breeze, or the inviting curve of her back.
“He's got his own problems,” he shook his head and went to the railing as well, putting her out of his line of vision. “And since most of them come clad in chantry robes, he's hardly inclined to help me.”
She was quiet a long time. “It seems to me that they're thinking of a weak Starkhaven as a benefit. They can probably make trade deals in their favor, profit off of your cousin's incompetence.”
“Yes,” he agreed, gripping the railing. “By the time I finally regain what is rightfully mine, there may not be much left.”
“Well, you just have to convince the other princes that a weak Starkhaven is a threat,” she mused. “If there were some outside force, say, Tevinter or Orlais or another Blight, who would rally the cities to defend the Free Marches? What other city has the resources or location to do such a thing?” She shrugged. “Of course, what do I know? I'm just an uneducated refugee.”
Sebastian considered her words. There was wisdom in them, however much it was couched in self-deprecation. “You make a good point. I shall consider that approach the next time I embark.” He sighed. “I had been trying to appeal to their honor.”
“Honor will only get you so far,” she said in a cynical tone. “And it's a lot to expect the ruling power of anything to think of 'honor' above their own pockets and the well-being of their own people.”
“You are right,” he said, feeling strangely sad. “Perhaps I've been in the Chantry too long to make much of a politician.” He turned the locket over in his hands. “Oh, listen to me. Here I am at this lovely party, monopolizing your time with my own woes. I apologize.”
“Don't,” she grinned, leaning towards him. “I needed a break from all the commotion. And besides, I like talking to you. You're interesting.”
She was so lovely and the wine was going straight to his head. He had to stop this before it got out of hand. “You should know,” he said as gently as he could. “That poverty was not the only vow I took.”
She smiled again and looked away. “Fair enough. But you took no vow foreswearing friendship, I hope?”
“I don't think the Maker, even at His most demanding, would expect such a sacrifice of his servants,” Sebastian replied, feeling relief at how easily the situation was resolved.
“Well, I don't know about you,” Laica shivered and stood up, “but I'm not dressed for this kind of weath--”
“Laica!” a frantic-looking young Dalish woman burst onto the balcony. “Come quick! Somebody set the library rug on fire!”
“Andraste on the spit, Merrill,” Laica cursed, running back into the house. “Did nobody think to put it out?”
Laica awoke the next morning on the floor of the kitchen, wrapped up in a bearskin rug. “Oh, my head,” she groaned as the room lurched around her.
“Rise and shine, bearskins,” Varric shook her. “Blondie's offered to help out with the hangovers.”
“Oh Maker, really? Anders, where are you?” Laica scrambled to her feet. “I need you!” Her mouth felt like some small rodent had crawled in and died. Her stomach flipped.
“Fine, fine,” Anders muttered, coming in from the other room. He gently touched her head and relieved the tight bands of headache that had wrapped her skull.
“Oh you are a gift. A gift straight from the Golden City,” she moaned as her stomach settled. “I need some water.”
“If there's nothing else you need, I'm going to go back to the Clinic.” Anders said, heading for the basement.
“I might come down later,” Laica said as she grabbed the water pitcher. “There's some mail I got yesterday I want to discuss with you.”
Anders nodded and left.
Isabela waited until he was gone to start gossiping. “So,” she quirked an eyebrow at Laica as she peeled an orange. “Any interesting... developments last night? You were missing for quite a while with Ser Chantry.”
“Ugh,” Laica huffed. “Well, turns out the locket was his mother's. And I don't know what that means, but he almost fainted when I gave it to him.” She gulped down some water, it tasted cool and sweet on her fuzzy tongue. “However. He then informed me that he took a vow of chastity.”
Isabela and Varric broke into uproarious laughter. “Really? Ouch!” Varric made a pained expression. “After all that work just … nothing?”
“I managed to impress him with my political astuteness, though,” she said haughtily. “So, at least there's that.”
Varric and Isabela laughed even harder. “You? Politically astute?” Isabela handed her half of the orange. “Since when?”
“Since he decided to retake his crown by appealing to their sense of honor,” Laica rolled her eyes. “At any rate, for as much of an utter failure as my plan was, at least I succeeded in one thing.”
“And what was that?” Varric rocked his chair back and sipped some tea.
“There's no way he's ever going to forget who I am. Ever. Again.”
A/N: The song I'm referencing is Colleen by Joanna Newsom. The lyrics are really cool, and you can find them here, among other places.
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This was a brilliant, Saga. The party was everything I imagined it would be and more, and I loved her interaction with Sebastian, so subtle yet so meaningful. The locket was a really nice way to get personal with him. Just lovely.
Hm, what else can I plant in your head?
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But I'm glad you liked it in spite of the presence of completely intact instruments.
Also as I was writing it, when Laica leans over on the railing? Sebastian is like "OMG want to hit it from behind". The things he won't even let himself think.
Also I am really scared of you right now.
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Though he did call me out with the "I know what I like line." He was all "YOU QUOTED ME!"
But yeah, I'm glad you liked it :D
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(Anonymous) 2011-04-06 11:31 am (UTC)(link)no subject
I'm glad you're liking the story. Laica is super fun to write and I love love LOVE Sebastian so I just couldn't help myself.