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rose_in_winterCharacters: Fenris, Mage Female Hawke, Sebastian Vael (Fenris/f!Hawke/Sebastian)
Rating: NC-17
Contains: Canon-typical violence, explicit sex
Fic Wordcount: 117,000
Chapter Wordcount:
Notes: Canon-divergent, ignoring most of Act 3. A thousand thanks tosenmut's Discord server for cheering and brainstorming and reactions and encouragement.
Beta: breadedsinner and MikWrites_InSpace
Summary: After the duel with the Arishok, Ariane Hawke looks around at the wreckage of her life in Kirkwall and asks herself: what is left for me here? As tensions increase between the Circle and the Templars, she turns to helping Sebastian retake Starkhaven. Meanwhile, she is trying to figure out how to love Fenris when he hates mages, and also definitely not looking at Sebastian's gorgeous eyes. Definitely not. Neither is Fenris. Sebastian is not looking back.
Definitely.
Canon divergence in which almost all of act 3 goes in the bin, and three damaged people try to find a way to live with each other and themselves, and maybe heal a bit.
Chapter index here.
Hawke climbed the steps to the Keep slowly. A fortnight had passed since the Qunari attacked, and most of the signs of the violence had been cleaned up. Discussion at the Blooming Rose, where she spent time gathering rumors that wouldn't filter down to the Hanged Man, had indicated that the throne room remained barricaded, but the rest of the Keep was back to its usual business, and she had received a letter from the Seneschal requesting her attendance.
The main reason she had accepted was that she didn't think he was going to try to talk her into the Viscount's seat. That and, with the Viscount dead, there were three main loci of power in the city, and the one who gave her assignments hunting outlaws on the Wounded Coast was also the one least likely to get her killed.
The inside of the Keep had been scrubbed clean, the carpets and tapestries damaged in the fighting replaced. The same functionaries, guards, and noble representatives clustered in small groups, gossiping and negotiating. She had dressed for an appointment with a government official rather than for a fight, but she was well aware of the eyes that followed her progress through the open hall and up the stairs toward the Seneschal's office.
His secretary greeted her politely and escorted her into Bran's office. He looked much the same as ever, and greeted her with a perfunctory nod.
"Serah Hawke," he said. "Your punctuality is appreciated."
Hawke smiled with too many teeth. "I do hate to inconvenience people," she said, and Bran made a noise that from a less politic person she would have called a snort.
"We are both very busy people, and therefore I will get straight to the point," Bran said. Hawke understood the unspoken indicator that it didn't matter that she was busy, but that he was, and she was not worth any more of his precious time than absolutely necessary. "Before his untimely death, Viscount Dumar had completed a review of the Amell family records," Bran continued, opening a drawer and extracting a scroll tied with a ribbon and stamped with the seal of Kirkwall. "The relevant genealogies are available to you, but the summation is that there are only three viable heirs of the main line of the House of Amell. Given your brother's employment with the templars and your uncle's....predilections, the Viscount named you the head of the House. This is your patent of nobility." He handed over the scroll, which Hawke accepted mostly automatically. "The late Viscount had desired you to sit on his council, which is presently a moot point, and I am certain that issues requiring the input of the head of House have been piling up at your solicitor's. You can get the details from my secretary."
"Just what I wanted for my name-day," Hawke said, for lack of any better response, "a new set of responsibilities." When Bran did not crack a smile, not that she'd expected him to, she shaped one of her own. "I appreciate your valuable time, Seneschal."
He made a gesture and she took the implicit dismissal, more because she didn't want to spend any more time in his stifling company than out of a desire to exhibit good manners, and left his office. She found a side room that was currently unoccupied and closed the door, mostly to prevent the intrusion of any amorously adventurous people, and broke the seal.
As with most legal documents, the patent employed a great many words to convey a fairly simple concept. She, Ariane Hawke, was now the head of House Amell, with all the rights and responsibilities commensurate with the title, and her rightful form of address was Lady Amell. She stuck her tongue out at the parchment, a very effective and mature response, as she'd never used her mother's name and never intended to. She wondered if it was possible to make Bran change the document to make it Lady Hawke. Probably not without becoming Viscount, which would both render the question irrelevant and be the most spectacular case of cutting off her nose to spite her face she'd seen since....well, there were a lot of options for the "since," but it would still be too much trouble.
Hawke rolled up the document and tucked it into her bag. She'd find out who the family solicitors were--her uncle might know, and if he didn't, Aveline would be able to find out--and left the side room. She noticed the looks from the other occupants of the public rooms more as she passed through. Some were giving her the basic looks of curiosity, although she was hardly an unknown quantity here from all her visits to the late Viscount and to Aveline, but some were definitely assessing her in a different way.
If Isabela had been around, Hawke could have wagered her for how long it would take one of these people to start something. If Isabela had been around, Hawke might not have had to duel the Arishok and this entire mess would never have happened.
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, she heard her mother's voice say in her head.
She headed to the guards' barracks and found Aveline scowling at paperwork, which was more or less what she'd expected. She leaned against a bookshelf and waited for the captain to finish tallying the columns of figures before her. When she was done, Aveline wrote several numbers on a document beside her, then did the arithmetic again. Hawke read the spines of the books nearest her. A history of Kirkwall's laws and the records of those who broke them, if she was not much mistaken.
She thought of the Grey Warden journal speculating on the cause of the riots, lunacy, and blood magic in the city, and a shiver ran down her spine. If she worked her way through these books, would she find a rise in activity corresponding to the Blights? Would it correspond to something else? Did she want to know? A shuffling of papers behind her interrupted that cheerful line of thinking.
"Seventy-eight sovereigns," Aveline said, looking up. "That's how much it cost me in extra shifts to clean up the mess the Qunari left behind."
"I hope you don't expect reimbursement," Hawke said.
"Not from you," Aveline said. She signed the document, dripped wax, impressed her seal, and set it aside. "From the Viscount's office, which in this case means Bran."
"So, blood from a stone," Hawke said.
Aveline sighed. "He's never pleased at extra guard shifts, but the Viscount was usually willing to approve them when I could explain why. With him gone..."
"This conversation had best not end with encouraging me to take the throne," Hawke said.
"I'm not sure you're worse than the other options," Aveline replied.
"Your confidence bolsters me, as ever." Hawke perched on the corner of Aveline's desk and tossed the patent of nobility into the center of the blotter.
"I will not cancel warrants for your arrest," Aveline said.
"That's not what it is."
"I won't cancel them for Varric, either."
Hawke laughed. "Just read it."
Aveline unrolled the parchment, raised her eyebrows at the heading, and read through the text quickly. When she rolled it back up, her expression was thoughtful, but she was as practical as ever. "A title won't buy your way out of trouble, Hawke."
"And here I thought power and money meant immunity," Hawke said, and raised a hand for peace when Aveline scowled. "I know, I know. In any event, the title seems more likely to bring trouble to my door, and I've enough of that already."
"What are you going to do about it?" Aveline asked after a moment.
Hawke sighed. "Figure out who the solicitors are--Bran mentioned the House has them--and talk to them. Find out what I need to handle." She paused, and groaned. "Probably have to go do errands for every merchant in the Docks and Darktown to pay back taxes. Though I suppose if I do Bran might complain less about paying your guards."
"He'll pay them one way or the other," Aveline said, but she sounded so tired.
Hawke narrowed her eyes at her friend, and reached out with magic to confirm that Aveline wasn't hiding any injuries. She wasn't as bad about it as Fenris, but she could be as stubborn as three mabari when she liked. Since her efforts didn't find anything, she folded her arms. "Want to tell me what's bothering you?"
Aveline glanced at the open door. Hawke got up from her perch and called back over her shoulder, "actually, I wanted to talk to you about that" a moment before kicking the door closed. Aveline shook her head, but didn't argue. Hawke reclaimed her seat.
"The guard can keep going for quite a while without a Viscount," Aveline said slowly, "but we'll be caught in between the templars and the mages one way or another. And without a Viscount, our authority will erode."
"I nominate you," Hawke said. "You have experience corralling unruly people and ferreting out corruption."
"Be serious, Hawke," Aveline said sharply. "I'm Fereldan and have been here six years. What claim would I have? That patent of nobility gives you more right to the Viscount's seat."
Hawke shuddered theatrically. "I do not want that chair and I have never been more serious about anything in my entire life," she said firmly. "Besides, I'm Fereldan too."
"Your mother was from Kirkwall and you're now the head of a Kirkwall noble house."
"If you say that one more time, you're paying my tab at the Rose tonight."
Aveline let it pass, but Hawke could see the words clamoring for release behind her teeth. "If that's the case," Aveline concluded, "there isn't much you can do."
"I remain really good at solving problems with force," Hawke offered.
Aveline winced. "I don't think that solves any of my current problems."
"Then I'll leave you to them." Hawke slid off the desk. "You know where to find me."
"Thanks for stopping by," Aveline said as Hawke opened the door and wandered out into the main room. She waved to Donnic as she passed.
Bolstered by her visit to Aveline, she steeled herself for the conversation with Bran's secretary, who was happy to provide her with information about the family solicitors. Hawke barely kept herself from shaking her head at it in front of him. It was a long way from leaving Lothering with the clothes on her back to family solicitors.
She decided she didn't have the energy for harassing Carver about their new status today, and headed for home to review the document of rights and responsibilities the secretary had provided for her.
Chapter Seven
Rating: NC-17
Contains: Canon-typical violence, explicit sex
Fic Wordcount: 117,000
Chapter Wordcount:
Notes: Canon-divergent, ignoring most of Act 3. A thousand thanks to
senmut's Discord server for cheering and brainstorming and reactions and encouragement.Beta: breadedsinner and MikWrites_InSpace
Summary: After the duel with the Arishok, Ariane Hawke looks around at the wreckage of her life in Kirkwall and asks herself: what is left for me here? As tensions increase between the Circle and the Templars, she turns to helping Sebastian retake Starkhaven. Meanwhile, she is trying to figure out how to love Fenris when he hates mages, and also definitely not looking at Sebastian's gorgeous eyes. Definitely not. Neither is Fenris. Sebastian is not looking back.
Definitely.
Canon divergence in which almost all of act 3 goes in the bin, and three damaged people try to find a way to live with each other and themselves, and maybe heal a bit.
Chapter index here.
Hawke climbed the steps to the Keep slowly. A fortnight had passed since the Qunari attacked, and most of the signs of the violence had been cleaned up. Discussion at the Blooming Rose, where she spent time gathering rumors that wouldn't filter down to the Hanged Man, had indicated that the throne room remained barricaded, but the rest of the Keep was back to its usual business, and she had received a letter from the Seneschal requesting her attendance.
The main reason she had accepted was that she didn't think he was going to try to talk her into the Viscount's seat. That and, with the Viscount dead, there were three main loci of power in the city, and the one who gave her assignments hunting outlaws on the Wounded Coast was also the one least likely to get her killed.
The inside of the Keep had been scrubbed clean, the carpets and tapestries damaged in the fighting replaced. The same functionaries, guards, and noble representatives clustered in small groups, gossiping and negotiating. She had dressed for an appointment with a government official rather than for a fight, but she was well aware of the eyes that followed her progress through the open hall and up the stairs toward the Seneschal's office.
His secretary greeted her politely and escorted her into Bran's office. He looked much the same as ever, and greeted her with a perfunctory nod.
"Serah Hawke," he said. "Your punctuality is appreciated."
Hawke smiled with too many teeth. "I do hate to inconvenience people," she said, and Bran made a noise that from a less politic person she would have called a snort.
"We are both very busy people, and therefore I will get straight to the point," Bran said. Hawke understood the unspoken indicator that it didn't matter that she was busy, but that he was, and she was not worth any more of his precious time than absolutely necessary. "Before his untimely death, Viscount Dumar had completed a review of the Amell family records," Bran continued, opening a drawer and extracting a scroll tied with a ribbon and stamped with the seal of Kirkwall. "The relevant genealogies are available to you, but the summation is that there are only three viable heirs of the main line of the House of Amell. Given your brother's employment with the templars and your uncle's....predilections, the Viscount named you the head of the House. This is your patent of nobility." He handed over the scroll, which Hawke accepted mostly automatically. "The late Viscount had desired you to sit on his council, which is presently a moot point, and I am certain that issues requiring the input of the head of House have been piling up at your solicitor's. You can get the details from my secretary."
"Just what I wanted for my name-day," Hawke said, for lack of any better response, "a new set of responsibilities." When Bran did not crack a smile, not that she'd expected him to, she shaped one of her own. "I appreciate your valuable time, Seneschal."
He made a gesture and she took the implicit dismissal, more because she didn't want to spend any more time in his stifling company than out of a desire to exhibit good manners, and left his office. She found a side room that was currently unoccupied and closed the door, mostly to prevent the intrusion of any amorously adventurous people, and broke the seal.
As with most legal documents, the patent employed a great many words to convey a fairly simple concept. She, Ariane Hawke, was now the head of House Amell, with all the rights and responsibilities commensurate with the title, and her rightful form of address was Lady Amell. She stuck her tongue out at the parchment, a very effective and mature response, as she'd never used her mother's name and never intended to. She wondered if it was possible to make Bran change the document to make it Lady Hawke. Probably not without becoming Viscount, which would both render the question irrelevant and be the most spectacular case of cutting off her nose to spite her face she'd seen since....well, there were a lot of options for the "since," but it would still be too much trouble.
Hawke rolled up the document and tucked it into her bag. She'd find out who the family solicitors were--her uncle might know, and if he didn't, Aveline would be able to find out--and left the side room. She noticed the looks from the other occupants of the public rooms more as she passed through. Some were giving her the basic looks of curiosity, although she was hardly an unknown quantity here from all her visits to the late Viscount and to Aveline, but some were definitely assessing her in a different way.
If Isabela had been around, Hawke could have wagered her for how long it would take one of these people to start something. If Isabela had been around, Hawke might not have had to duel the Arishok and this entire mess would never have happened.
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, she heard her mother's voice say in her head.
She headed to the guards' barracks and found Aveline scowling at paperwork, which was more or less what she'd expected. She leaned against a bookshelf and waited for the captain to finish tallying the columns of figures before her. When she was done, Aveline wrote several numbers on a document beside her, then did the arithmetic again. Hawke read the spines of the books nearest her. A history of Kirkwall's laws and the records of those who broke them, if she was not much mistaken.
She thought of the Grey Warden journal speculating on the cause of the riots, lunacy, and blood magic in the city, and a shiver ran down her spine. If she worked her way through these books, would she find a rise in activity corresponding to the Blights? Would it correspond to something else? Did she want to know? A shuffling of papers behind her interrupted that cheerful line of thinking.
"Seventy-eight sovereigns," Aveline said, looking up. "That's how much it cost me in extra shifts to clean up the mess the Qunari left behind."
"I hope you don't expect reimbursement," Hawke said.
"Not from you," Aveline said. She signed the document, dripped wax, impressed her seal, and set it aside. "From the Viscount's office, which in this case means Bran."
"So, blood from a stone," Hawke said.
Aveline sighed. "He's never pleased at extra guard shifts, but the Viscount was usually willing to approve them when I could explain why. With him gone..."
"This conversation had best not end with encouraging me to take the throne," Hawke said.
"I'm not sure you're worse than the other options," Aveline replied.
"Your confidence bolsters me, as ever." Hawke perched on the corner of Aveline's desk and tossed the patent of nobility into the center of the blotter.
"I will not cancel warrants for your arrest," Aveline said.
"That's not what it is."
"I won't cancel them for Varric, either."
Hawke laughed. "Just read it."
Aveline unrolled the parchment, raised her eyebrows at the heading, and read through the text quickly. When she rolled it back up, her expression was thoughtful, but she was as practical as ever. "A title won't buy your way out of trouble, Hawke."
"And here I thought power and money meant immunity," Hawke said, and raised a hand for peace when Aveline scowled. "I know, I know. In any event, the title seems more likely to bring trouble to my door, and I've enough of that already."
"What are you going to do about it?" Aveline asked after a moment.
Hawke sighed. "Figure out who the solicitors are--Bran mentioned the House has them--and talk to them. Find out what I need to handle." She paused, and groaned. "Probably have to go do errands for every merchant in the Docks and Darktown to pay back taxes. Though I suppose if I do Bran might complain less about paying your guards."
"He'll pay them one way or the other," Aveline said, but she sounded so tired.
Hawke narrowed her eyes at her friend, and reached out with magic to confirm that Aveline wasn't hiding any injuries. She wasn't as bad about it as Fenris, but she could be as stubborn as three mabari when she liked. Since her efforts didn't find anything, she folded her arms. "Want to tell me what's bothering you?"
Aveline glanced at the open door. Hawke got up from her perch and called back over her shoulder, "actually, I wanted to talk to you about that" a moment before kicking the door closed. Aveline shook her head, but didn't argue. Hawke reclaimed her seat.
"The guard can keep going for quite a while without a Viscount," Aveline said slowly, "but we'll be caught in between the templars and the mages one way or another. And without a Viscount, our authority will erode."
"I nominate you," Hawke said. "You have experience corralling unruly people and ferreting out corruption."
"Be serious, Hawke," Aveline said sharply. "I'm Fereldan and have been here six years. What claim would I have? That patent of nobility gives you more right to the Viscount's seat."
Hawke shuddered theatrically. "I do not want that chair and I have never been more serious about anything in my entire life," she said firmly. "Besides, I'm Fereldan too."
"Your mother was from Kirkwall and you're now the head of a Kirkwall noble house."
"If you say that one more time, you're paying my tab at the Rose tonight."
Aveline let it pass, but Hawke could see the words clamoring for release behind her teeth. "If that's the case," Aveline concluded, "there isn't much you can do."
"I remain really good at solving problems with force," Hawke offered.
Aveline winced. "I don't think that solves any of my current problems."
"Then I'll leave you to them." Hawke slid off the desk. "You know where to find me."
"Thanks for stopping by," Aveline said as Hawke opened the door and wandered out into the main room. She waved to Donnic as she passed.
Bolstered by her visit to Aveline, she steeled herself for the conversation with Bran's secretary, who was happy to provide her with information about the family solicitors. Hawke barely kept herself from shaking her head at it in front of him. It was a long way from leaving Lothering with the clothes on her back to family solicitors.
She decided she didn't have the energy for harassing Carver about their new status today, and headed for home to review the document of rights and responsibilities the secretary had provided for her.
Chapter Seven