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peopleofthedas2011-05-09 01:40 pm
silentstephi) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-05-09 01:40 pm
These Ties That Bind Us - Dragon Age 2 : Chapter 5
Title: These Ties That Bind Us
Chapter: Five - Disquiet
Author:silentstephi
Rating: T to start, M in later chapters for themes and violence
Warnings: None for this chapter
Word Count: 4670 out of 13,710
Pairing: Sorcha Hawke/Sebastian, hints of F!Hawke/Anders
Summary: It's been four months since the events at Kirkwall and the world is changing at a rapid rate. Sebastian, last of his line, is determined to get Starkhaven back but Sorcha Hawke isn't going to make it easy. The abomination haunts them still.
Note:drakontion is the best beta of all time. No, really. Woman, I <3 you.
Disquiet:
A mug was shoved into his face, tendrils of cinnamon scented steam curling up along its sides. “Drink this before you fall face first onto the floor, Your Highness.”
He didn’t have the energy to argue, so he took the mug from Roan and swallowed, not caring that the bitter liquid burned on its way down. He wasn’t paying all that much attention to taste. He stared blankly at the rough wooden floorboards as he nursed the drink. Fergus, laying down in front of the door to the sickroom, huffed out a short whine and laid his head on his paws. Sebastian sympathized with the mabari.
With arms propped up on his knees and head hanging, he looked up at Roan from under a stray bit of hair and brushed it back with annoyance. They had been on their feet for most of the day so it was a welcome rest they took now. Patience wasn’t his strongest virtue and the inactivity made his hands itch for something to do. “Should we make another move so soon or do you think the hamlet we’ve set up camp will suffice for the next week?”
The Antivan considered his words. Sebastian appreciated the man for his attention to details, and the strategy of moving the men was one of those things he depended on most. Roan nodded and said, “We’re safe for the time being. It’s a good four hour hike to Hermin’s from the city proper, an hour if we’re ahorse. Plenty of warning if we need to move.” He sat back against the rickety wooden chair and rubbed at the back of his neck, gathering his thoughts. “Goodman Hershal’s land is the border of Blackwood and the marsh makes an excellent fall back point. Mounted pursuit would have a rougher time in the marsh than those on foot, and we each squad knows the rendezvous in case of emergencies.”
Sebastian wiped a hand over his face and thought about the messages he had received and read while out at the hamlet that morning. “I sent Noël on an errand regarding the missive from Serah Cross, so she won’t be joining us.” The missive from Walter Cross, an old friend of his father, spoke of Templars making inquiries about missing lyrium shipments and the Chantry trying to keep a lid on it. It seemed no one had any answers and the situation degenerated further within the Chantry. He shook his head and sat up, rubbing calloused hands on his legs. “We’re going into town. It’s about time I got some questions answered.”
Roan crossed muscled forearms, causing his leather armor to creak under the strain, and stated bluntly, “Questions like who would send a Seeker assassin after someone who isn’t even supposed to be in Starkhaven, and how did they know where to find her?”
The Prince of Starkhaven nodded, “There’s a man in Sunderport I need to speak with.”
A thin black brow on the tanned Antivan’s face quirked at the prince and he shuffled his feet on the floor boards, causing Fergus to lift his head at the noise. “Shrike?”
A laugh escaped Sebastian’s twisted grimace. “Who else would know?”
In the seedy underside of Starkhaven politics, if there was one person who knew anything about anyone it would be Shrike. The man was a legend, though his origins were wildly speculated at. Some claim he was a sixth son of the Shrewsbury’s who had carved his own path away from the brood. Others claimed he was minor lord from the Orlesian courts who’d had better luck in Starkhaven than back home in Orlais. Not many had met the man in person, as he usually worked through his web of information brokers. One of those brokers was who Sebastian was going to meet tonight.
His options on getting information about an assassin were limited. He couldn’t accuse the Chantry of sending the elf: bad enough the Sisters and Mother were cold and formal to him, but if he went in there waving the man’s herald and demanding answers he’d never get them to see him as on their side. No, while speed was of the essence, he had to keep the balance in his favor. Getting himself in the Chantry’s bad grace would make taking back his throne harder by tenfold.
He clenched his hands, feeling the knuckles crack as his blood started to boil. Thoughts of the assassin caused his vision to tinge red. The elf had had the Seeker’s symbol but nothing else on his person to show his allegiance. Sebastian had been too busy running with a bleeding and dazed Sorcha in his arms to the healer’s home in Drifter’s Town. It was miracle he hadn’t slipped once the whole trip; the persistent rain that day had slicked the roads between the Resari estate in Western Starkhaven and Genna’s in Drifter’s Town in the south. Roan and Noël had taken care of searching the body of the dead elf. The poison coated dagger had helped them somewhat. Roan had recognized the poison and had an antidote they could use to stop the poison from killing her.
The salve had saved her life, but it had been four days and with the movement of his men and searching for answers, Sebastian had had no word from the midwife. Genna was skilled in her trade, having been there for his brothers and his own birthings decades before.
His vision blurred and looking down at his fingers he saw them as they were that night; covered in Hawke’s blood. There had been so much of it… He knew her prior injuries were severe, but not enough to warrant his armor needing a thorough cleaning. It worried Sebastian more than he realized. The specter of her life on his hands faded and his thoughts turned towards the child.
He didn’t like to think about the baby she carried. Shame colored his ears as his thoughts wandered to that day in Kirkwall. Their final argument, his adamant affirmation that he had oaths to uphold. Her fiery protests over the canticle that he had oaths of blood to the people of Starkhaven and that he should stop hiding behind the Maker’s will.
They both said things to hurt, words that cut to the quick of the matter, both of them frustrated with emotions both were too stubborn to reveal or give up on. She had turned to the apostate for the comfort Sebastian was unable (but not, Maker forgive him, unwilling) to give her. He had resigned himself to his fate as a brother of the faith. He had made his vows to Andraste and he would abide by them.
Then his world was blown asunder. And he would not forgive the man, no, the monster for killing Elthina and all those innocents.
The knowledge that Sorcha loved the apostate confused Sebastian. But she carried his child. Anders’ child.
Roan cleared his throat to get Sebastian’s attention. He looked up at his friend in relief. He wasn’t ready to explore his feelings on the topic. He couldn’t afford the time.
“Any word yet on …” the larger man let his question trail off as the door down the hall opened and Genna stepped out. Fergus stood and she let the mabari into the room, but she closed the door behind him and made her way to the waiting men.
They both stood as Genna stopped a few feet from Sebastian. She was short, her cheeks rounded and her carriage sturdy, the picture of motherly comfort. Her soft blue eyes looked at Sebastian with compassion and a touch of regret. “The girl sleeps. Her cuts and scrapes will heal, though the broken stitches mean she’ll probably scar. Those stopped bleeding days ago. The poison has run its course.”
She nodded her thanks to Roan and the Antivan returned the gesture. “It is a common enough plant in these parts,” he said. Looking at Sebastian he added, “It was a sloppy move on his part. Speaks that they were in a rush, otherwise they’d have used something not native to the region.”
Sebastian shook his head at Roan. “I don’t believe he expected her to be in such well-equipped company.” Sebastian hadn’t looked away from Genna while he spoke to Roan so he noticed the elderly woman’s hesitation. “Please Genna, what aren’t you telling me?”
The wrinkles around her eyes sagged as she sighed and rubbed her hands on her apron. Softly she said, “She will survive the poison. The child did not.”
Sebastian’s mouth went dry and a prayer came unbidden to his lips, “Andraste, please guide this innocent soul to the Maker’s arms.” He touched his fingers to his forehead and took a moment to collect himself. He caught Roan’s startled look out of the corner of his eye. Sebastian shook his head. He had kept the healer sworn to secrecy about the baby. Roan only knew Genna as an old friend of the Vael family but Sebastian had neglected to tell his second what kind of friend.
The midwife continued with a compassionate tone, “She needs rest now. She can use the time to heal, body and soul. She can stay here and if you’d like to leave someone here they can stay in the spare room down by the kitchen. But she’s in no condition to travel anywhere Sebastian, for at least a few days.” The thought occurred to Sebastian that had they been back in Kirkwall, Anders would have had Sorcha back up in no time. There was a lesson here that he wasn’t ready to accept: mages had their place as their healing arts were a blessing. If only they weren’t so quick to harm with their arts…
Wordlessly Sebastian nodded and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Genna. I will leave some men here for your protection. I don’t think you are in any danger, but better safe than sorry.”
The woman smiled and shed twenty years in the process. “Thank you Sebastian. I appreciate your concern.” She patted his hand and he lowered it back to his side. Hearing footfalls Sebastian and Roan turned to see one of his men coming up from the front of the house. The man nodded curtly to the prince. “Beggin’ yer pardon Messere, but Commander Rosenfir is here.”
“Thank you. I want you and Brian to stay here and guard Genna and her guest. Noël should be here within the hour to relieve you.” He dismissed the man and gestured for Roan to follow him to the front exit of Genna’s home. He picked up his bow, set the mug down on one of the tables and made his way to the front door.
The air outside was cool and only slightly damp with river fog. A man paced back and forth but once he caught sight of Sebastian he stopped and grinned wide. A perfect set of teeth in a thin lipped mouth, the man’s strawberry blond hair was pulled back and held secure with a bit of leather, and his light armor looked cleaner than Sebastian had ever seen. Kirt Rosenfir, complete with family crest daggers sheathed at his side, the handles twinkling. He looked to impress tonight, it seemed.
Bright green eyes greeted the Prince as Kirt knocked his friend’s shoulder and his Starkhaven burr wasn’t quite as pronounced as Sebastian’s own, but it was there. “So, I hear someone’s out for your neck, this soon in the game. I’m surprised it took them so long to send someone your way. What’s the game plan, Ian? Storm the Chantry proper and get some answers?”
Sebastian rolled his eyes at Kirt as he used his boyhood nickname. The man talked a mile a minute and only slowed down when good and drunk. But Sebastian wanted him at his best. Kirt had the Maker’s luck at getting what he needed when he needed it; right now, he could use a minor miracle. “No, we’re not going to go accuse the Reverend Mother of assassination. We need information. Did you get in touch with your man in Sunderport? Or do we hunt for it the old fashioned way?”
His friend brushed off the accusation with a gesture. “Please. You whisper such sweet nothings to me. Come on, Rose awaits us at the Wasted Cockerel. We can have a chat and if we’re lucky, some coin and fine tail to end the night.” Kirt winked at Sebastian, but the archer was not in the mood. Kirt still liked to toss barbs at him over his chastity vows. Back then, they had made it a game. While circumstances had changed for Sebastian, Kirt remained ignorant of the meaning of the word ‘celibate.’
The three men made their way to through the dark quiet streets, passing the night life in the poor section of Starkhaven known as Drifter’s Town. It saddened Sebastian to see Genna have to make do in such squalor, but he had been gone for many years. Things changed. People did what they had to do to survive.
It took them an hour or so to navigate the winding paths and alleys from the slums to the edges of Sunderport. The streets were wide enough for a single horse drawn cart or buggy and the sight of horseflesh was much more common now than when he was younger. In his hedonistic youth Sebastian had become intimately familiar with the seedier side of the city of his birth. Losing his escort on foot was a game he and Kirt had played to the disgruntlement of the guard and its Capitan, Leland Rowls. But Leland was a ghost of the past now. He had died along with the rest of Sebastian’s family seven years ago.
Time moves forward and in the present, while there was more squalor and horse shit than he remembered, the vices were still the same. This late in the evening beggars and pickpockets gave way to whores and street merchants of the illicit persuasion. The three men took care to avoid being seen. Sebastian wanted to keep his return to Starkhaven proper as secretive as possible.
It was a big risk going to the Wasted Cockerel; it had been an old haunt of his. But retaking his birthright was worth it. Looking at the outside of the tavern, Sebastian couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at his mouth as he noted the smoke stains on the side of the building which had never been scrubbed or washed away. It had been an accident, but Barkeep Joran had run the two of them out so fast… Sebastian had barely had time to get dressed.
Kirt went in first, brushing open the swinging doors into the sea of sailors and dock workers enjoying a pint for the evening. The stench of unwashed bodies, stale ale and urine hit Sebastian square in the face and had him reeling back on his heels. The noise was familiar though. Loud barks of laughter followed by the clink of coin as bets on games of Wicked Grace were made, wenches collected their tips and drunks snored in the corners.
Sebastian made sure to keep his profile covered. Joran could still have run of the place so best not to tempt fate. Kirt lead them towards the back of the tavern, which was similar to the front, except that it opened up out onto the docks instead of the street. It wasn’t a pleasant place to have a seat, since it served as a good place for those who couldn’t hold their drink puking over the side of the rail into the river below.
At one of the benches against the far wall a shadowed figure sat with a tankard in her hand. Dark eyes glinted in the torch light, staring at Kirt, eyeing him up and down like a fine piece of meat.
Rolling his eyes heavenward, Andraste please let this not turn into a complete disaster, Sebastian approached with Kirt and Roan in tow. The woman was covered from head to foot in ornate dark leather. The covering was just a distraction as it was form fitted to her curvaceous form. It didn’t leave much to the imagination either. Her hair was unbound and wild with curls, tangled around her head and framing a pretty face with striking dark brown eyes. On the corner of her left cheek there was a small tattoo of a rose, and her full lips pouted then turned up into a smirk. “You know Kirt, when you said you were bringing friends, I didn’t think they’d be so… delicious.”
She gave Roan a quick once over, who pointedly ignored her and watched the rest of the tavern for signs of trouble, then she slid her gaze over to Sebastian. It made his skin crawl at first and the flush of heat told him his cheeks were coloring. It had been a very long time since anyone had been so… blatant in their attention to him. “Did you remember my birthingday?” She practically purred, her voice a low alto. Before Sebastian could make some sort of biting retort to her remark Kirt laughed and put a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder.
“Now now Rose, we’re just here to talk. No games. Not for these boyo’s at least.”
She snorted in laughter at the scoundrel and indicated with a slender finger seats for the men to take. “A girl can dream, can’t she? Now, what was it that was so serious that I had to come right away? You’re lucky I like you…”
His friend raised a brow at Rose and he smiled. Sebastian knew that smile. His friend had plans for this vixen that strained his Maker-made vows. Sebastian wondered privately just how long these two had been at this game.
The prince cleared his throat and her sultry gaze slid from his friend to him. Her heated gaze didn’t stop Sebastian from getting down to business. “We need information. Kirt says you’re Shrike’s ear and I’m requesting his assistance.”
She brushed her hand over her ample chest and produced a small pointed file. She leaned back as she used the file to pick out bits of dirt underneath her fingernails. The stunt had made the three men tense, but she pretended to not notice. Though she did smirk as she shrugged. “Yes, I hear you’re looking for an assassin, is that right? There are so many crawling through the docks these days, what with the powers that be jockeying for crumbling positions, it’s hard to keep track.” She lifted her eyes to his, dark lashes hooding her gaze. This woman knew much more than she let on.
He frowned. He knew the information he needed would come with a price. The fact that she hadn’t mentioned any was a bad sign. He did his best to keep her on the topic of the assassin. “I have means for payment, in case you’re curious. I need to know who hired him.”
“Mmmhmm.” She put her file back from whence it came and focused all of her attention squarely on him. He had caught on to her game. It made him relax. She was trying to crawl her way under his skin. Like an old glove, the rules of engagement came back to him.
She noticed the relaxation in his shoulders and threw her head back, laughing. Knowing her ruse wasn’t going to work she dampened down the smolder and cocked her head to the side. “Very well, princeling.” He froze and cursed silently at the physical reaction. She noticed and her lips quirked.
“Come now, I know a Vael when I see one. You have your father’s nose.” She said the last absently and then added firmly “I’ll speak to Shrike. Tell me of the assassin.”
He glanced at Kirt who just gave an airy shrug and Sebastian sighed. “He was an elf. Dark haired, trim build. He wore a Seeker’s crest and carried a foreign dagger on him. I’m not familiar with the make but it looks like nothing from south of the Marches.” He placed the weapon on the table, and Rose picked it up and gave it a once over.
“Hmm” she said, “looks Rivain.” Placing the dagger back she tapped a finger on the table. “No one comes immediately to mind, but I’m sure we’ll have no trouble tracking down the dead man’s employer. He is dead, right?”
“Of course.”
“Pity. Might have had something useful to impart,” she waved her hand in dismissal. “Now, best you make your way out the back princeling, before Joran recognizes you and that telltale ornament of yours.” Her eyes dipped to his belt buckle and raising her brow, she smirked. Sebastian had the feeling she was more interested with what lay underneath and it irked him. She looked back up and winked at him. “We’ll be in touch.”
Sebastian’s chest tightened at the thought of the kind of price her master would demand for this information. But he needed to know, fast, who was so well informed of his whereabouts. Roan and Kirt stood with him and as he was leaving, Rose reached a hand out and placed it on his gauntlet. “One last thing: Time is running out for you and yours. Stories floating out here from Kirkwall are starting to contain more details about the famous Champion and her compatriots. Those with the right sources will know you’re coming. If you were counting on surprise, it may be too late. But,” and she hesitated, for effect or for her own sake he couldn’t tell looking into her dark gaze. “When the time comes, make sure you’ve got the right allies on your side. You wouldn’t want to end up like the rest of your family.”
Before he had a chance to respond to that cryptic message, she stood and made her way through the tavern to the front, calling out to Joran and giving them a distraction to get out the back.
It was a small advantage given freely he would take.
The back door of the Wasted Cockerel spilled out to the pier connected to the tavern. There were various small boats and skiffs docked here, their captains and crew prowling the night inside this tavern or the next.
While the three men caught their bearings a woman of dubious virtue called out, “Kirt! You looking for some sauce tonight? Fresca and I aren’t busy and we’d love to see that thing you do with your feet.” Sebastian just looked at his friend while Kirt laughed and hollered back, “Some other night ladies. Business before pleasure.”
He shook his head at his friend. “That thing with your feet? Maker, have you not changed at all?” There was a time when a night on the town was what Vael and Rosenfir did best. The ale flowed, the women fawned, and coin was of no consequence, gambled away or spent for a good night’s romp. His time away from Starkhaven and with the Chantry made it all a dull memory; but here, back in the thick of things, the rot of fish and river fauna clinging to the air, the laughter and shouts of folks having a good time, it all came rushing back.
I am a changed man, Maker willing. He couldn’t afford to dwell so much on the past. Having it stare him in the face made it difficult. Kirt tugged on his arm and tossed his head towards the city streets. “We should get moving before I change my mind, eh? Ceilia is actually quite popular…” He leered at the cute blonde giving them doe eyes and Sebastian grunted his agreement.
The three men left the pier and poured out onto the dockside street. The din of drunken sailors leaving the bars and heading back to ships with shipmates caroling was thick in the air. The alley way they used to avoid notice on the open roads was dimly lit and stocked with crates ready to be loaded from the neighboring warehouse in the early morning hours.
Roan was on point, and the caterwauling filtering into the alley almost made Sebastian miss the soft snap of a bow string. He grabbed Kirt’s arm and dragged the man down with him as he heard the arrow sail over his shoulder. “Ambush!”
Another arrow whizzed overhead as Sebastian dove for cover behind a stack of wooden crates. He heard the hiss of daggers being drawn and knew Kirt prepared to enter the fray at the end of the alley. Grunts and scuffled footsteps indicated to Sebastian that Roan must have met with some of the resistance.
Why these bandits would be stupid enough to engage the three of them in battle was anyone’s guess. All three men were well armed. Someone had to be targeting them specifically. Sebastian had no time to worry about if they had missed a tail and were being followed. He brought out his bow, nocked an arrow and was ready to let it fly. He poked his head around the stack of crates to see four men, two archers and two brawlers with clubs, at the entrance of the alley.
With fluid grace he drew back the arrow and released it, watching it sail straight into his target’s gut. The man let out a sharp cry of pain and dropped his bow to grip his middle, only to get another arrow in his arm for his trouble.
Ducking back behind the crate, he heard a fierce yell and Antivan curses bounce off the walls. Kirt was nowhere to be seen. He heard one of the bandits shout, “Now!”
He heard the snap of rope and looked up in time to see the crates he hide behind start to tumble on top of him. He threw his arm up in time to shield his head from being pulverized by wooden crates full of Maker knows what. In seconds he was surrounded and the sounds of battle were muffled as he was painfully buried in the rubble. One of the crates struck him on the side of the head and the last sound he heard before the abyss swallowed him whole was the sharp snap of wood.
LJ here and dreamwidth here
Chapter 1 here
New: Arcive Of Our Own link here
cross posted to![](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif?v=2")
swooping_is_bad, dragon_age, and muhrduhr
PS: Hey awesome mods of awesome, could I get a These Ties That Bind Us series tag? Not to be confused with Ties That Bind? XD
<3
Chapter: Five - Disquiet
Author:
silentstephiRating: T to start, M in later chapters for themes and violence
Warnings: None for this chapter
Word Count: 4670 out of 13,710
Pairing: Sorcha Hawke/Sebastian, hints of F!Hawke/Anders
Summary: It's been four months since the events at Kirkwall and the world is changing at a rapid rate. Sebastian, last of his line, is determined to get Starkhaven back but Sorcha Hawke isn't going to make it easy. The abomination haunts them still.
Note:
drakontion is the best beta of all time. No, really. Woman, I <3 you.Disquiet:
A mug was shoved into his face, tendrils of cinnamon scented steam curling up along its sides. “Drink this before you fall face first onto the floor, Your Highness.”
He didn’t have the energy to argue, so he took the mug from Roan and swallowed, not caring that the bitter liquid burned on its way down. He wasn’t paying all that much attention to taste. He stared blankly at the rough wooden floorboards as he nursed the drink. Fergus, laying down in front of the door to the sickroom, huffed out a short whine and laid his head on his paws. Sebastian sympathized with the mabari.
With arms propped up on his knees and head hanging, he looked up at Roan from under a stray bit of hair and brushed it back with annoyance. They had been on their feet for most of the day so it was a welcome rest they took now. Patience wasn’t his strongest virtue and the inactivity made his hands itch for something to do. “Should we make another move so soon or do you think the hamlet we’ve set up camp will suffice for the next week?”
The Antivan considered his words. Sebastian appreciated the man for his attention to details, and the strategy of moving the men was one of those things he depended on most. Roan nodded and said, “We’re safe for the time being. It’s a good four hour hike to Hermin’s from the city proper, an hour if we’re ahorse. Plenty of warning if we need to move.” He sat back against the rickety wooden chair and rubbed at the back of his neck, gathering his thoughts. “Goodman Hershal’s land is the border of Blackwood and the marsh makes an excellent fall back point. Mounted pursuit would have a rougher time in the marsh than those on foot, and we each squad knows the rendezvous in case of emergencies.”
Sebastian wiped a hand over his face and thought about the messages he had received and read while out at the hamlet that morning. “I sent Noël on an errand regarding the missive from Serah Cross, so she won’t be joining us.” The missive from Walter Cross, an old friend of his father, spoke of Templars making inquiries about missing lyrium shipments and the Chantry trying to keep a lid on it. It seemed no one had any answers and the situation degenerated further within the Chantry. He shook his head and sat up, rubbing calloused hands on his legs. “We’re going into town. It’s about time I got some questions answered.”
Roan crossed muscled forearms, causing his leather armor to creak under the strain, and stated bluntly, “Questions like who would send a Seeker assassin after someone who isn’t even supposed to be in Starkhaven, and how did they know where to find her?”
The Prince of Starkhaven nodded, “There’s a man in Sunderport I need to speak with.”
A thin black brow on the tanned Antivan’s face quirked at the prince and he shuffled his feet on the floor boards, causing Fergus to lift his head at the noise. “Shrike?”
A laugh escaped Sebastian’s twisted grimace. “Who else would know?”
In the seedy underside of Starkhaven politics, if there was one person who knew anything about anyone it would be Shrike. The man was a legend, though his origins were wildly speculated at. Some claim he was a sixth son of the Shrewsbury’s who had carved his own path away from the brood. Others claimed he was minor lord from the Orlesian courts who’d had better luck in Starkhaven than back home in Orlais. Not many had met the man in person, as he usually worked through his web of information brokers. One of those brokers was who Sebastian was going to meet tonight.
His options on getting information about an assassin were limited. He couldn’t accuse the Chantry of sending the elf: bad enough the Sisters and Mother were cold and formal to him, but if he went in there waving the man’s herald and demanding answers he’d never get them to see him as on their side. No, while speed was of the essence, he had to keep the balance in his favor. Getting himself in the Chantry’s bad grace would make taking back his throne harder by tenfold.
He clenched his hands, feeling the knuckles crack as his blood started to boil. Thoughts of the assassin caused his vision to tinge red. The elf had had the Seeker’s symbol but nothing else on his person to show his allegiance. Sebastian had been too busy running with a bleeding and dazed Sorcha in his arms to the healer’s home in Drifter’s Town. It was miracle he hadn’t slipped once the whole trip; the persistent rain that day had slicked the roads between the Resari estate in Western Starkhaven and Genna’s in Drifter’s Town in the south. Roan and Noël had taken care of searching the body of the dead elf. The poison coated dagger had helped them somewhat. Roan had recognized the poison and had an antidote they could use to stop the poison from killing her.
The salve had saved her life, but it had been four days and with the movement of his men and searching for answers, Sebastian had had no word from the midwife. Genna was skilled in her trade, having been there for his brothers and his own birthings decades before.
His vision blurred and looking down at his fingers he saw them as they were that night; covered in Hawke’s blood. There had been so much of it… He knew her prior injuries were severe, but not enough to warrant his armor needing a thorough cleaning. It worried Sebastian more than he realized. The specter of her life on his hands faded and his thoughts turned towards the child.
He didn’t like to think about the baby she carried. Shame colored his ears as his thoughts wandered to that day in Kirkwall. Their final argument, his adamant affirmation that he had oaths to uphold. Her fiery protests over the canticle that he had oaths of blood to the people of Starkhaven and that he should stop hiding behind the Maker’s will.
They both said things to hurt, words that cut to the quick of the matter, both of them frustrated with emotions both were too stubborn to reveal or give up on. She had turned to the apostate for the comfort Sebastian was unable (but not, Maker forgive him, unwilling) to give her. He had resigned himself to his fate as a brother of the faith. He had made his vows to Andraste and he would abide by them.
Then his world was blown asunder. And he would not forgive the man, no, the monster for killing Elthina and all those innocents.
The knowledge that Sorcha loved the apostate confused Sebastian. But she carried his child. Anders’ child.
Roan cleared his throat to get Sebastian’s attention. He looked up at his friend in relief. He wasn’t ready to explore his feelings on the topic. He couldn’t afford the time.
“Any word yet on …” the larger man let his question trail off as the door down the hall opened and Genna stepped out. Fergus stood and she let the mabari into the room, but she closed the door behind him and made her way to the waiting men.
They both stood as Genna stopped a few feet from Sebastian. She was short, her cheeks rounded and her carriage sturdy, the picture of motherly comfort. Her soft blue eyes looked at Sebastian with compassion and a touch of regret. “The girl sleeps. Her cuts and scrapes will heal, though the broken stitches mean she’ll probably scar. Those stopped bleeding days ago. The poison has run its course.”
She nodded her thanks to Roan and the Antivan returned the gesture. “It is a common enough plant in these parts,” he said. Looking at Sebastian he added, “It was a sloppy move on his part. Speaks that they were in a rush, otherwise they’d have used something not native to the region.”
Sebastian shook his head at Roan. “I don’t believe he expected her to be in such well-equipped company.” Sebastian hadn’t looked away from Genna while he spoke to Roan so he noticed the elderly woman’s hesitation. “Please Genna, what aren’t you telling me?”
The wrinkles around her eyes sagged as she sighed and rubbed her hands on her apron. Softly she said, “She will survive the poison. The child did not.”
Sebastian’s mouth went dry and a prayer came unbidden to his lips, “Andraste, please guide this innocent soul to the Maker’s arms.” He touched his fingers to his forehead and took a moment to collect himself. He caught Roan’s startled look out of the corner of his eye. Sebastian shook his head. He had kept the healer sworn to secrecy about the baby. Roan only knew Genna as an old friend of the Vael family but Sebastian had neglected to tell his second what kind of friend.
The midwife continued with a compassionate tone, “She needs rest now. She can use the time to heal, body and soul. She can stay here and if you’d like to leave someone here they can stay in the spare room down by the kitchen. But she’s in no condition to travel anywhere Sebastian, for at least a few days.” The thought occurred to Sebastian that had they been back in Kirkwall, Anders would have had Sorcha back up in no time. There was a lesson here that he wasn’t ready to accept: mages had their place as their healing arts were a blessing. If only they weren’t so quick to harm with their arts…
Wordlessly Sebastian nodded and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Genna. I will leave some men here for your protection. I don’t think you are in any danger, but better safe than sorry.”
The woman smiled and shed twenty years in the process. “Thank you Sebastian. I appreciate your concern.” She patted his hand and he lowered it back to his side. Hearing footfalls Sebastian and Roan turned to see one of his men coming up from the front of the house. The man nodded curtly to the prince. “Beggin’ yer pardon Messere, but Commander Rosenfir is here.”
“Thank you. I want you and Brian to stay here and guard Genna and her guest. Noël should be here within the hour to relieve you.” He dismissed the man and gestured for Roan to follow him to the front exit of Genna’s home. He picked up his bow, set the mug down on one of the tables and made his way to the front door.
The air outside was cool and only slightly damp with river fog. A man paced back and forth but once he caught sight of Sebastian he stopped and grinned wide. A perfect set of teeth in a thin lipped mouth, the man’s strawberry blond hair was pulled back and held secure with a bit of leather, and his light armor looked cleaner than Sebastian had ever seen. Kirt Rosenfir, complete with family crest daggers sheathed at his side, the handles twinkling. He looked to impress tonight, it seemed.
Bright green eyes greeted the Prince as Kirt knocked his friend’s shoulder and his Starkhaven burr wasn’t quite as pronounced as Sebastian’s own, but it was there. “So, I hear someone’s out for your neck, this soon in the game. I’m surprised it took them so long to send someone your way. What’s the game plan, Ian? Storm the Chantry proper and get some answers?”
Sebastian rolled his eyes at Kirt as he used his boyhood nickname. The man talked a mile a minute and only slowed down when good and drunk. But Sebastian wanted him at his best. Kirt had the Maker’s luck at getting what he needed when he needed it; right now, he could use a minor miracle. “No, we’re not going to go accuse the Reverend Mother of assassination. We need information. Did you get in touch with your man in Sunderport? Or do we hunt for it the old fashioned way?”
His friend brushed off the accusation with a gesture. “Please. You whisper such sweet nothings to me. Come on, Rose awaits us at the Wasted Cockerel. We can have a chat and if we’re lucky, some coin and fine tail to end the night.” Kirt winked at Sebastian, but the archer was not in the mood. Kirt still liked to toss barbs at him over his chastity vows. Back then, they had made it a game. While circumstances had changed for Sebastian, Kirt remained ignorant of the meaning of the word ‘celibate.’
The three men made their way to through the dark quiet streets, passing the night life in the poor section of Starkhaven known as Drifter’s Town. It saddened Sebastian to see Genna have to make do in such squalor, but he had been gone for many years. Things changed. People did what they had to do to survive.
It took them an hour or so to navigate the winding paths and alleys from the slums to the edges of Sunderport. The streets were wide enough for a single horse drawn cart or buggy and the sight of horseflesh was much more common now than when he was younger. In his hedonistic youth Sebastian had become intimately familiar with the seedier side of the city of his birth. Losing his escort on foot was a game he and Kirt had played to the disgruntlement of the guard and its Capitan, Leland Rowls. But Leland was a ghost of the past now. He had died along with the rest of Sebastian’s family seven years ago.
Time moves forward and in the present, while there was more squalor and horse shit than he remembered, the vices were still the same. This late in the evening beggars and pickpockets gave way to whores and street merchants of the illicit persuasion. The three men took care to avoid being seen. Sebastian wanted to keep his return to Starkhaven proper as secretive as possible.
It was a big risk going to the Wasted Cockerel; it had been an old haunt of his. But retaking his birthright was worth it. Looking at the outside of the tavern, Sebastian couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at his mouth as he noted the smoke stains on the side of the building which had never been scrubbed or washed away. It had been an accident, but Barkeep Joran had run the two of them out so fast… Sebastian had barely had time to get dressed.
Kirt went in first, brushing open the swinging doors into the sea of sailors and dock workers enjoying a pint for the evening. The stench of unwashed bodies, stale ale and urine hit Sebastian square in the face and had him reeling back on his heels. The noise was familiar though. Loud barks of laughter followed by the clink of coin as bets on games of Wicked Grace were made, wenches collected their tips and drunks snored in the corners.
Sebastian made sure to keep his profile covered. Joran could still have run of the place so best not to tempt fate. Kirt lead them towards the back of the tavern, which was similar to the front, except that it opened up out onto the docks instead of the street. It wasn’t a pleasant place to have a seat, since it served as a good place for those who couldn’t hold their drink puking over the side of the rail into the river below.
At one of the benches against the far wall a shadowed figure sat with a tankard in her hand. Dark eyes glinted in the torch light, staring at Kirt, eyeing him up and down like a fine piece of meat.
Rolling his eyes heavenward, Andraste please let this not turn into a complete disaster, Sebastian approached with Kirt and Roan in tow. The woman was covered from head to foot in ornate dark leather. The covering was just a distraction as it was form fitted to her curvaceous form. It didn’t leave much to the imagination either. Her hair was unbound and wild with curls, tangled around her head and framing a pretty face with striking dark brown eyes. On the corner of her left cheek there was a small tattoo of a rose, and her full lips pouted then turned up into a smirk. “You know Kirt, when you said you were bringing friends, I didn’t think they’d be so… delicious.”
She gave Roan a quick once over, who pointedly ignored her and watched the rest of the tavern for signs of trouble, then she slid her gaze over to Sebastian. It made his skin crawl at first and the flush of heat told him his cheeks were coloring. It had been a very long time since anyone had been so… blatant in their attention to him. “Did you remember my birthingday?” She practically purred, her voice a low alto. Before Sebastian could make some sort of biting retort to her remark Kirt laughed and put a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder.
“Now now Rose, we’re just here to talk. No games. Not for these boyo’s at least.”
She snorted in laughter at the scoundrel and indicated with a slender finger seats for the men to take. “A girl can dream, can’t she? Now, what was it that was so serious that I had to come right away? You’re lucky I like you…”
His friend raised a brow at Rose and he smiled. Sebastian knew that smile. His friend had plans for this vixen that strained his Maker-made vows. Sebastian wondered privately just how long these two had been at this game.
The prince cleared his throat and her sultry gaze slid from his friend to him. Her heated gaze didn’t stop Sebastian from getting down to business. “We need information. Kirt says you’re Shrike’s ear and I’m requesting his assistance.”
She brushed her hand over her ample chest and produced a small pointed file. She leaned back as she used the file to pick out bits of dirt underneath her fingernails. The stunt had made the three men tense, but she pretended to not notice. Though she did smirk as she shrugged. “Yes, I hear you’re looking for an assassin, is that right? There are so many crawling through the docks these days, what with the powers that be jockeying for crumbling positions, it’s hard to keep track.” She lifted her eyes to his, dark lashes hooding her gaze. This woman knew much more than she let on.
He frowned. He knew the information he needed would come with a price. The fact that she hadn’t mentioned any was a bad sign. He did his best to keep her on the topic of the assassin. “I have means for payment, in case you’re curious. I need to know who hired him.”
“Mmmhmm.” She put her file back from whence it came and focused all of her attention squarely on him. He had caught on to her game. It made him relax. She was trying to crawl her way under his skin. Like an old glove, the rules of engagement came back to him.
She noticed the relaxation in his shoulders and threw her head back, laughing. Knowing her ruse wasn’t going to work she dampened down the smolder and cocked her head to the side. “Very well, princeling.” He froze and cursed silently at the physical reaction. She noticed and her lips quirked.
“Come now, I know a Vael when I see one. You have your father’s nose.” She said the last absently and then added firmly “I’ll speak to Shrike. Tell me of the assassin.”
He glanced at Kirt who just gave an airy shrug and Sebastian sighed. “He was an elf. Dark haired, trim build. He wore a Seeker’s crest and carried a foreign dagger on him. I’m not familiar with the make but it looks like nothing from south of the Marches.” He placed the weapon on the table, and Rose picked it up and gave it a once over.
“Hmm” she said, “looks Rivain.” Placing the dagger back she tapped a finger on the table. “No one comes immediately to mind, but I’m sure we’ll have no trouble tracking down the dead man’s employer. He is dead, right?”
“Of course.”
“Pity. Might have had something useful to impart,” she waved her hand in dismissal. “Now, best you make your way out the back princeling, before Joran recognizes you and that telltale ornament of yours.” Her eyes dipped to his belt buckle and raising her brow, she smirked. Sebastian had the feeling she was more interested with what lay underneath and it irked him. She looked back up and winked at him. “We’ll be in touch.”
Sebastian’s chest tightened at the thought of the kind of price her master would demand for this information. But he needed to know, fast, who was so well informed of his whereabouts. Roan and Kirt stood with him and as he was leaving, Rose reached a hand out and placed it on his gauntlet. “One last thing: Time is running out for you and yours. Stories floating out here from Kirkwall are starting to contain more details about the famous Champion and her compatriots. Those with the right sources will know you’re coming. If you were counting on surprise, it may be too late. But,” and she hesitated, for effect or for her own sake he couldn’t tell looking into her dark gaze. “When the time comes, make sure you’ve got the right allies on your side. You wouldn’t want to end up like the rest of your family.”
Before he had a chance to respond to that cryptic message, she stood and made her way through the tavern to the front, calling out to Joran and giving them a distraction to get out the back.
It was a small advantage given freely he would take.
The back door of the Wasted Cockerel spilled out to the pier connected to the tavern. There were various small boats and skiffs docked here, their captains and crew prowling the night inside this tavern or the next.
While the three men caught their bearings a woman of dubious virtue called out, “Kirt! You looking for some sauce tonight? Fresca and I aren’t busy and we’d love to see that thing you do with your feet.” Sebastian just looked at his friend while Kirt laughed and hollered back, “Some other night ladies. Business before pleasure.”
He shook his head at his friend. “That thing with your feet? Maker, have you not changed at all?” There was a time when a night on the town was what Vael and Rosenfir did best. The ale flowed, the women fawned, and coin was of no consequence, gambled away or spent for a good night’s romp. His time away from Starkhaven and with the Chantry made it all a dull memory; but here, back in the thick of things, the rot of fish and river fauna clinging to the air, the laughter and shouts of folks having a good time, it all came rushing back.
I am a changed man, Maker willing. He couldn’t afford to dwell so much on the past. Having it stare him in the face made it difficult. Kirt tugged on his arm and tossed his head towards the city streets. “We should get moving before I change my mind, eh? Ceilia is actually quite popular…” He leered at the cute blonde giving them doe eyes and Sebastian grunted his agreement.
The three men left the pier and poured out onto the dockside street. The din of drunken sailors leaving the bars and heading back to ships with shipmates caroling was thick in the air. The alley way they used to avoid notice on the open roads was dimly lit and stocked with crates ready to be loaded from the neighboring warehouse in the early morning hours.
Roan was on point, and the caterwauling filtering into the alley almost made Sebastian miss the soft snap of a bow string. He grabbed Kirt’s arm and dragged the man down with him as he heard the arrow sail over his shoulder. “Ambush!”
Another arrow whizzed overhead as Sebastian dove for cover behind a stack of wooden crates. He heard the hiss of daggers being drawn and knew Kirt prepared to enter the fray at the end of the alley. Grunts and scuffled footsteps indicated to Sebastian that Roan must have met with some of the resistance.
Why these bandits would be stupid enough to engage the three of them in battle was anyone’s guess. All three men were well armed. Someone had to be targeting them specifically. Sebastian had no time to worry about if they had missed a tail and were being followed. He brought out his bow, nocked an arrow and was ready to let it fly. He poked his head around the stack of crates to see four men, two archers and two brawlers with clubs, at the entrance of the alley.
With fluid grace he drew back the arrow and released it, watching it sail straight into his target’s gut. The man let out a sharp cry of pain and dropped his bow to grip his middle, only to get another arrow in his arm for his trouble.
Ducking back behind the crate, he heard a fierce yell and Antivan curses bounce off the walls. Kirt was nowhere to be seen. He heard one of the bandits shout, “Now!”
He heard the snap of rope and looked up in time to see the crates he hide behind start to tumble on top of him. He threw his arm up in time to shield his head from being pulverized by wooden crates full of Maker knows what. In seconds he was surrounded and the sounds of battle were muffled as he was painfully buried in the rubble. One of the crates struck him on the side of the head and the last sound he heard before the abyss swallowed him whole was the sharp snap of wood.
LJ here and dreamwidth here
Chapter 1 here
New: Arcive Of Our Own link here
cross posted to
swooping_is_bad, dragon_age, and muhrduhrPS: Hey awesome mods of awesome, could I get a These Ties That Bind Us series tag? Not to be confused with Ties That Bind? XD
<3
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But if you want to post the whole thing here we would be happy to make a tag. :)
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And all the previous chapters too. ^.^
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I'm new to the politics game, especially writing about it, so stay tuned xD