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rose_in_winter2024-10-31 11:19 pm
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[Dragon Age 2] When Love with Unconfinéd Wings, Chapter 16
Characters: 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.
Sebastian arrived at Hawke's manor with the first chirping of the songbirds, but even so, Fenris was already at the table in the dining room when Bodahn led him in. The elf gave him a wordless nod, but Sebastian saw how his chair was angled slightly toward Hawke's, and how her hand rested near enough to his arm that she could touch, if she chose.
He swallowed against a lump in his throat and brought his warmest smile to his face, glad for them if not only glad. "Good morning, Hawke, Fenris," he said.
"I assume you've not broken your fast," Hawke said, pointing with her chin at the platters of food on the table. "Sit, eat."
He wondered if that easy hospitality was a Fereldan trait; when Leandra had been alive, she had always greeted him with the offer of tea and food. Refreshments were the norm in Starkhaven and Kirkwall, but not usually hearty fare, at least not in the circles he'd had before his vows. He took a nearby chair and claimed toast, boiled eggs, and bacon. Fenris poured a mug of hot tea and pushed it toward him silently.
"Thank you," Sebastian said, and Fenris blinked twice, as though still surprised by this most basic of courtesies.
Well, the experiences of a lifetime died hard.
"De Telvignon's note said to bring those who will accompany me," Hawke said. "I'm sure he's more knowledgeable than I, a mere Fereldan refugee, on the matter of who is suitable to retrieve...whatever we're retrieving. Or he just wants to feel important and make us feel small by staring at us."
"He should be grateful you consider his request at all," Fenris muttered. "You have enough to do."
"Are we waiting for someone else, then?" Sebastian asked. By Kirkwall standards, there was enough food at the table for four, but by Hawke's usual tendencies, it looked to be just the three of them.
Hawke smashed a boiled egg onto her toast with a spoon and scooped away a bite of toast and egg. Sebastian turned to his own food so as not to seem to be pressuring her to eat faster. "No, just the three of us, I'm afraid. I know it'll be a hardship, but the others are busy or uninterested." She contemplated her tea. "If it sounds too harrowing I might be forced to blackmail Varric, but we'll see."
"I'm sure the thieves will be more than happy to return whatever it is if you ask nicely," Fenris said.
"I can be very persuasive." Hawke adopted a solemn expression. "The Orlesian's note claims he's an early riser, so I suppose we can get this over with when we're done here. In any event--"
"Hawke," Sebastian said, "just why are you taking this commission?"
She smiled, the vivid beaming smile that meant someone was about to have dire regrets about whatever she had planned. Sebastian hoped the regrets would belong to de Telvignon, not him.
"Well, my choices are limited." She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. "I don't exactly have sons and brothers littering the manor to trade to Lady Merinfort."
"You have a brother," Fenris said.
"He's a templar," Hawke pointed out.
Fenris frowned. "I am missing some crucial fact."
"Right, I didn't explain this." Hawke scrunched her face up and sighed. "The simplified version is that my family has a contract with Lady Merinfort's family that allows her to claim either an enormous sum of money I do not have, or a male of the line to husband one of her daughters. Since my uncle is not an enticing prospect and templars usually don't marry, and I'm a woman, I have no way to honor that side of the agreement. Since I am now head of House Amell--thanks in part to Mother's fussing--" A shadow crossed her face and she brushed it aside with an airy gesture. "It's my problem to resolve the agreement somehow. Lady Merinfort, not feeling inclined to wait another generation, graciously offered me an out, which is that if I can arrange de Telvignon to owe her a favor, she'll sign off on the completion of the contract."
Sebastian stared at his food very determinedly and hoped his expression was not giving anything away. House Amell had been very busy with contracts in the past, it seemed.
"Your grandfather disowned your mother," Fenris said slowly. "How can you be held to account for his choices?"
Hawke finished off her toast and egg and leaned back in her chair with a sigh. "Because he un-disowned Mother before he died and she was bound and determined to restore the honor of the name, which I am now stuck with." The reasons she was stuck with it hung in the air like old smoke, and all three of them were very carefully avoiding said reasons. "Had the viscount been a bit faster, or Mother a bit slower to apply, I could avoid all of this and just be your run of the mill apostate mercenary. But it's not good to renege on your agreements."
"One could argue," Sebastian said very carefully, "that the agreements are not really yours to uphold or cancel, if one chose. It might make some enemies."
"Ah, yes, enemies, the greatest lack in my life," Hawke said.
Fenris choked on his tea.
"I can think of worse things than knowing the secrets of an Orlesian nobleman," Hawke said, and then paused. "I suppose depending on the secrets, perhaps I can't." Her tone careened from sarcastic to solemn and Sebastian thought of Gascard du Puis. Hawke shook her head slightly and pasted on her most dazzling smile, which fooled neither of them, and resumed her protectively flippant mien. "Anyway, if it's too awful of a request, I'll...I don't know. Go back to working for Athenril until I can pay off the contract? Sell my life story to someone other than Varric? Skim a week's profits off the Rose somehow? I'll think of something. It's too bad Mother spent almost all of the expedition money fixing up this place."
It was on the tip of Sebastian's tongue to offer her a solution in the form of a seat on Starkhaven's throne beside him, but if he were to make that offer, he was selfish and romantic enough that he wanted it to be more than just business, and since she had chosen Fenris, he owed her the courtesy of respecting that choice. He filled his mouth with egg to prevent any stray words.
Fenris finished his meal and laid down his utensils. "How well armed do we go?" he asked Hawke.
She considered it. "No more than we usually would--for walking around Lowtown," she decided, and her smile was thin and sharp. "He should have some idea of what he's hiring, and in the event he's even more of an idiot than most Orlesians, we will be prepared."
"I am ready when you are," Sebastian said.
Hawke drained her mug of tea and pushed it away. "Let's be done with it, then."
HIghtown early in the morning was a quiet place, mostly populated by servants running errands rather than the people for whom those errands were run. Hawke moved briskly through the wide streets of the neighborhood where the Amell manor sat, in the direction of the mansion Fenris had claimed. Most of the imposing houses there were rented to out-of-towners whose entourages were too large for an inn or who had plenty of sovereigns and self-importance. There were less impressive houses outside Hightown, but Sebastian wasn't surprised when Hawke paused outside a massive edifice of pale grey stone carved with many motifs popular in Orlesian architecture. It was, in fact, a smaller and clumsier copy of the Orlesian ambassador's residence.
Hawke showed a letter to the gate guard and soon they were escorted into a parlor with delicately carved Orlesian furniture that looked as though it would break beneath the weight of an actual person. Sebastian and Fenris, each in substantial armor, looked at each other and chose to stand. Hawke made to join them.
"Better you sit," Sebastian murmured. "He wants to treat with you."
Her eyes narrowed, and he knew from the thin line of her mouth that she had opinions she would share later, but she seated herself gracefully in an armchair that sat in the full cascade of sunlight pouring in from an upper window--a seat Sebastian was sure de Telvignon would have intended for himself. He kept his smile hidden as he took a place slightly behind it and to Hawke's left. Fenris guarded the right.
Hawke's hair seemed caught aflame, and the angle of the chair highlighted her profile in a way that made her look like a queen. Small wonder people turned to the Champion like flowers to the sun; she was like the sun, a flame that burned ever dazzling. He looked away, knowing he showed too much, and studied the draperies until he was sure of his expression again.
The Orlesian kept them waiting long enough to be annoying. When he did enter the room, his face tightened in annoyance at seeing Hawke in her chosen seat, but he covered it with a bright smile and approached with hands outstretched. "A pleasure, Champion, a pleasure."
Hawke clasped his hands politely. "I appreciate your willingness to meet so early. I am sure you must have many demands on your time."
"No demand is greater than the company of a lovely woman," he replied. There was an armchair across from Hawke, less well-lit but enough for Sebastian to see the details of his expression when he sat in it. From the man's posture, it was apparent he thought he was dealing with a woman competent enough in battle with a thin polish of manners, but not a real opponent.
This would be a show to rival any theatre in Orlais.
A servant arrived with a rolling cart of coffee, tea and pastries. Sebastian and Fenris declined both. Hawke accepted tea and one small, flaky pastry, which she left untouched on its delicate porcelain plate. When the servant had fixed de Telvignon's coffee to his liking, she withdrew without a sound, and he cleared his throat.
"These are the men who will accompany you?" he asked.
Hawke inclined her head. "As you requested, yes, I brought my intended companions."
He frowned slightly. "It seems a small group."
"Perhaps if you gave me more information about what we would be doing." Hawke turned the teacup on its saucer slightly without drinking from it. "I am not, for example, envisioning a siege of Denerim, but do correct me if I am wrong."
De Telvignon's brows lowered, his mouth flattening, and Sebastian wondered what Hawke knew that he did not. She remained still. Someone who underestimated her might take it for ease.
"My daughter has been kidnapped," de Telvignon said abruptly, "and I wish her returned to me. The kidnappers also stole a family heirloom, a relic box, which I would also like to have if it can be done without harm to my daughter."
"I see," Hawke said. "Have you any leads?"
"She was taken from my estate in Val Royeaux one week ago, and the kidnappers fled by sea. I believe they landed in the coves east of Cumberland and are traveling overland through the Planasene Forest to Kirkwall."
Hawke raised an eyebrow. "As you are presently in Kirkwall, it seems like you could perhaps wait for their arrival."
"I do not want my daughter in their hands any longer than necessary," he snapped. "Besides, they could slip out of here under cover of night and be in Hercinia before I'd even known they were here."
"How do you expect me to find her in a place the size of Planasene?" Hawke asked, quite reasonably.
"There's only one major road through the forest proper," de Telvignon said with the patience of one speaking to a toddler.
"And how do you know all this?" Hawke said. "Not the road, anyone with a map can know that, but the path? The goal?"
The nobleman grunted and rose from his seat. He crossed the room to a writing desk and unlocked the drawer, withdrawing an envelope. He handed this to Hawke. "The ransom demand instructs me to meet them in Hercinia," he said, "and advises me not to search for them on a ship."
Hawke opened the envelope and read the ransom note. Sebastian read over her shoulder. Your daughter is unharmed. Do not attempt to catch our ship, and she will remain safe. In exchange for her safe return, we require six thousand gold sovereigns. The exchange will be in the east market of Hercinia on the twenty-fourth of Cassus.
Hawke frowned, and Sebastian knew she was calculating the travel time. "What makes you think they stopped in Cumberland and are crossing Planasene on foot, rather than coming to Kirkwall and going overland to Hercinia from here?" she asked. "The timing could work out either way."
"I sent men ahead on a fast ship to check the docks here," de Telvignon said, "and there is no sign that she's been here yet. My men will, of course, continue to watch for her."
Hawke handed the note to Sebastian and glanced at Fenris. He moved one shoulder in the slightest of shrugs. Sebastian read over the note twice. The entire thing stank worse than the Hanged Man the morning after Satinalia, the incongruous hint of perfume in the parchment not withstanding. Hawke turned to look at him and lifted an eyebrow on the side of her face that was away from de Telvignon. Sebastian nodded faintly. If Hawke wanted to risk it, he would keep her safe.
Hawke looked back to their soon-to-be client.
"I have heard that the Champion's skills are without peer," he said, in that oily way that Orlesians had. Sebastian sincerely considered asking Hawke for a private conference to keep her from accepting this, but he held his tongue, with difficulty.
"Lady Merinfort's confidence in me is an honor. Your daughter's name?" Hawke asked.
He frowned faintly. "Clarice," he said, somewhat reluctantly.
"I expect we shall be back with Lady Clarice safely in tow as soon as possible," Hawke said blandly, and rose. Their host was slow to display manners, but he did eventually stand. "Good day."
Sebastian felt the man's eyes on his back as Hawke led the way out of the major and back to her own home.
"That note wasn't written by a kidnapper," Sebastian said when they were safely within her walls.
"Of course it wasn't," Hawke said. "Unless someone tutored in the literary arts at the Orlesian court has turned to kidnapping directly instead of paying someone to do it for them."
Fenris looked between them, frowning.
"The handwriting and paper were far too fine to be from a ruffian," Sebastian explained.
"Not to mention the language, and the fact that they used Cassus for the month, not Haring," Hawke said. She pulled a face. "I'm curious why he'd kidnap his own daughter, and more curious yet that his need for a favor came up precisely in time for Lady Merinfort to hold it over my head, but I do love a good mystery."
"Are you sure about this, Hawke?" Sebastian asked. "There may be other options for handling that agreement."
Hawke's smile was thin and cold. "Oh, I'm quite sure," she said. "If only to know exactly what he's earned for his actions."
HIs grandfather had worn just such a look when dealing with particularly intransigent criminals. As a young lad, Sebastian had found it frightening. On Hawke's face, it was compelling.
"Forest roads in winter are a terrible experience," Hawke said absently. "We'll want to stock up on warm bedding and heavy cloaks--and horses. I'm not doing this on foot. Would you be able to depart tomorrow morning?"
"Yes," Sebastian said. "I need only tell the Grand Cleric that I will be absent." He hesitated. "I believe she expects it."
"Sebastian," Hawke said softly.
"We can speak of it later," he hurried to cut off whatever offer she had been about to make. "I will see you both tomorrow."
She was frowning as he left, but he did not want her making any promises about his throne she had not already made. Not until he could be truthful with her, and now was not the time.
He prayed he would have the right words when it was.
Chapter Seventeen
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.
Sebastian arrived at Hawke's manor with the first chirping of the songbirds, but even so, Fenris was already at the table in the dining room when Bodahn led him in. The elf gave him a wordless nod, but Sebastian saw how his chair was angled slightly toward Hawke's, and how her hand rested near enough to his arm that she could touch, if she chose.
He swallowed against a lump in his throat and brought his warmest smile to his face, glad for them if not only glad. "Good morning, Hawke, Fenris," he said.
"I assume you've not broken your fast," Hawke said, pointing with her chin at the platters of food on the table. "Sit, eat."
He wondered if that easy hospitality was a Fereldan trait; when Leandra had been alive, she had always greeted him with the offer of tea and food. Refreshments were the norm in Starkhaven and Kirkwall, but not usually hearty fare, at least not in the circles he'd had before his vows. He took a nearby chair and claimed toast, boiled eggs, and bacon. Fenris poured a mug of hot tea and pushed it toward him silently.
"Thank you," Sebastian said, and Fenris blinked twice, as though still surprised by this most basic of courtesies.
Well, the experiences of a lifetime died hard.
"De Telvignon's note said to bring those who will accompany me," Hawke said. "I'm sure he's more knowledgeable than I, a mere Fereldan refugee, on the matter of who is suitable to retrieve...whatever we're retrieving. Or he just wants to feel important and make us feel small by staring at us."
"He should be grateful you consider his request at all," Fenris muttered. "You have enough to do."
"Are we waiting for someone else, then?" Sebastian asked. By Kirkwall standards, there was enough food at the table for four, but by Hawke's usual tendencies, it looked to be just the three of them.
Hawke smashed a boiled egg onto her toast with a spoon and scooped away a bite of toast and egg. Sebastian turned to his own food so as not to seem to be pressuring her to eat faster. "No, just the three of us, I'm afraid. I know it'll be a hardship, but the others are busy or uninterested." She contemplated her tea. "If it sounds too harrowing I might be forced to blackmail Varric, but we'll see."
"I'm sure the thieves will be more than happy to return whatever it is if you ask nicely," Fenris said.
"I can be very persuasive." Hawke adopted a solemn expression. "The Orlesian's note claims he's an early riser, so I suppose we can get this over with when we're done here. In any event--"
"Hawke," Sebastian said, "just why are you taking this commission?"
She smiled, the vivid beaming smile that meant someone was about to have dire regrets about whatever she had planned. Sebastian hoped the regrets would belong to de Telvignon, not him.
"Well, my choices are limited." She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. "I don't exactly have sons and brothers littering the manor to trade to Lady Merinfort."
"You have a brother," Fenris said.
"He's a templar," Hawke pointed out.
Fenris frowned. "I am missing some crucial fact."
"Right, I didn't explain this." Hawke scrunched her face up and sighed. "The simplified version is that my family has a contract with Lady Merinfort's family that allows her to claim either an enormous sum of money I do not have, or a male of the line to husband one of her daughters. Since my uncle is not an enticing prospect and templars usually don't marry, and I'm a woman, I have no way to honor that side of the agreement. Since I am now head of House Amell--thanks in part to Mother's fussing--" A shadow crossed her face and she brushed it aside with an airy gesture. "It's my problem to resolve the agreement somehow. Lady Merinfort, not feeling inclined to wait another generation, graciously offered me an out, which is that if I can arrange de Telvignon to owe her a favor, she'll sign off on the completion of the contract."
Sebastian stared at his food very determinedly and hoped his expression was not giving anything away. House Amell had been very busy with contracts in the past, it seemed.
"Your grandfather disowned your mother," Fenris said slowly. "How can you be held to account for his choices?"
Hawke finished off her toast and egg and leaned back in her chair with a sigh. "Because he un-disowned Mother before he died and she was bound and determined to restore the honor of the name, which I am now stuck with." The reasons she was stuck with it hung in the air like old smoke, and all three of them were very carefully avoiding said reasons. "Had the viscount been a bit faster, or Mother a bit slower to apply, I could avoid all of this and just be your run of the mill apostate mercenary. But it's not good to renege on your agreements."
"One could argue," Sebastian said very carefully, "that the agreements are not really yours to uphold or cancel, if one chose. It might make some enemies."
"Ah, yes, enemies, the greatest lack in my life," Hawke said.
Fenris choked on his tea.
"I can think of worse things than knowing the secrets of an Orlesian nobleman," Hawke said, and then paused. "I suppose depending on the secrets, perhaps I can't." Her tone careened from sarcastic to solemn and Sebastian thought of Gascard du Puis. Hawke shook her head slightly and pasted on her most dazzling smile, which fooled neither of them, and resumed her protectively flippant mien. "Anyway, if it's too awful of a request, I'll...I don't know. Go back to working for Athenril until I can pay off the contract? Sell my life story to someone other than Varric? Skim a week's profits off the Rose somehow? I'll think of something. It's too bad Mother spent almost all of the expedition money fixing up this place."
It was on the tip of Sebastian's tongue to offer her a solution in the form of a seat on Starkhaven's throne beside him, but if he were to make that offer, he was selfish and romantic enough that he wanted it to be more than just business, and since she had chosen Fenris, he owed her the courtesy of respecting that choice. He filled his mouth with egg to prevent any stray words.
Fenris finished his meal and laid down his utensils. "How well armed do we go?" he asked Hawke.
She considered it. "No more than we usually would--for walking around Lowtown," she decided, and her smile was thin and sharp. "He should have some idea of what he's hiring, and in the event he's even more of an idiot than most Orlesians, we will be prepared."
"I am ready when you are," Sebastian said.
Hawke drained her mug of tea and pushed it away. "Let's be done with it, then."
HIghtown early in the morning was a quiet place, mostly populated by servants running errands rather than the people for whom those errands were run. Hawke moved briskly through the wide streets of the neighborhood where the Amell manor sat, in the direction of the mansion Fenris had claimed. Most of the imposing houses there were rented to out-of-towners whose entourages were too large for an inn or who had plenty of sovereigns and self-importance. There were less impressive houses outside Hightown, but Sebastian wasn't surprised when Hawke paused outside a massive edifice of pale grey stone carved with many motifs popular in Orlesian architecture. It was, in fact, a smaller and clumsier copy of the Orlesian ambassador's residence.
Hawke showed a letter to the gate guard and soon they were escorted into a parlor with delicately carved Orlesian furniture that looked as though it would break beneath the weight of an actual person. Sebastian and Fenris, each in substantial armor, looked at each other and chose to stand. Hawke made to join them.
"Better you sit," Sebastian murmured. "He wants to treat with you."
Her eyes narrowed, and he knew from the thin line of her mouth that she had opinions she would share later, but she seated herself gracefully in an armchair that sat in the full cascade of sunlight pouring in from an upper window--a seat Sebastian was sure de Telvignon would have intended for himself. He kept his smile hidden as he took a place slightly behind it and to Hawke's left. Fenris guarded the right.
Hawke's hair seemed caught aflame, and the angle of the chair highlighted her profile in a way that made her look like a queen. Small wonder people turned to the Champion like flowers to the sun; she was like the sun, a flame that burned ever dazzling. He looked away, knowing he showed too much, and studied the draperies until he was sure of his expression again.
The Orlesian kept them waiting long enough to be annoying. When he did enter the room, his face tightened in annoyance at seeing Hawke in her chosen seat, but he covered it with a bright smile and approached with hands outstretched. "A pleasure, Champion, a pleasure."
Hawke clasped his hands politely. "I appreciate your willingness to meet so early. I am sure you must have many demands on your time."
"No demand is greater than the company of a lovely woman," he replied. There was an armchair across from Hawke, less well-lit but enough for Sebastian to see the details of his expression when he sat in it. From the man's posture, it was apparent he thought he was dealing with a woman competent enough in battle with a thin polish of manners, but not a real opponent.
This would be a show to rival any theatre in Orlais.
A servant arrived with a rolling cart of coffee, tea and pastries. Sebastian and Fenris declined both. Hawke accepted tea and one small, flaky pastry, which she left untouched on its delicate porcelain plate. When the servant had fixed de Telvignon's coffee to his liking, she withdrew without a sound, and he cleared his throat.
"These are the men who will accompany you?" he asked.
Hawke inclined her head. "As you requested, yes, I brought my intended companions."
He frowned slightly. "It seems a small group."
"Perhaps if you gave me more information about what we would be doing." Hawke turned the teacup on its saucer slightly without drinking from it. "I am not, for example, envisioning a siege of Denerim, but do correct me if I am wrong."
De Telvignon's brows lowered, his mouth flattening, and Sebastian wondered what Hawke knew that he did not. She remained still. Someone who underestimated her might take it for ease.
"My daughter has been kidnapped," de Telvignon said abruptly, "and I wish her returned to me. The kidnappers also stole a family heirloom, a relic box, which I would also like to have if it can be done without harm to my daughter."
"I see," Hawke said. "Have you any leads?"
"She was taken from my estate in Val Royeaux one week ago, and the kidnappers fled by sea. I believe they landed in the coves east of Cumberland and are traveling overland through the Planasene Forest to Kirkwall."
Hawke raised an eyebrow. "As you are presently in Kirkwall, it seems like you could perhaps wait for their arrival."
"I do not want my daughter in their hands any longer than necessary," he snapped. "Besides, they could slip out of here under cover of night and be in Hercinia before I'd even known they were here."
"How do you expect me to find her in a place the size of Planasene?" Hawke asked, quite reasonably.
"There's only one major road through the forest proper," de Telvignon said with the patience of one speaking to a toddler.
"And how do you know all this?" Hawke said. "Not the road, anyone with a map can know that, but the path? The goal?"
The nobleman grunted and rose from his seat. He crossed the room to a writing desk and unlocked the drawer, withdrawing an envelope. He handed this to Hawke. "The ransom demand instructs me to meet them in Hercinia," he said, "and advises me not to search for them on a ship."
Hawke opened the envelope and read the ransom note. Sebastian read over her shoulder. Your daughter is unharmed. Do not attempt to catch our ship, and she will remain safe. In exchange for her safe return, we require six thousand gold sovereigns. The exchange will be in the east market of Hercinia on the twenty-fourth of Cassus.
Hawke frowned, and Sebastian knew she was calculating the travel time. "What makes you think they stopped in Cumberland and are crossing Planasene on foot, rather than coming to Kirkwall and going overland to Hercinia from here?" she asked. "The timing could work out either way."
"I sent men ahead on a fast ship to check the docks here," de Telvignon said, "and there is no sign that she's been here yet. My men will, of course, continue to watch for her."
Hawke handed the note to Sebastian and glanced at Fenris. He moved one shoulder in the slightest of shrugs. Sebastian read over the note twice. The entire thing stank worse than the Hanged Man the morning after Satinalia, the incongruous hint of perfume in the parchment not withstanding. Hawke turned to look at him and lifted an eyebrow on the side of her face that was away from de Telvignon. Sebastian nodded faintly. If Hawke wanted to risk it, he would keep her safe.
Hawke looked back to their soon-to-be client.
"I have heard that the Champion's skills are without peer," he said, in that oily way that Orlesians had. Sebastian sincerely considered asking Hawke for a private conference to keep her from accepting this, but he held his tongue, with difficulty.
"Lady Merinfort's confidence in me is an honor. Your daughter's name?" Hawke asked.
He frowned faintly. "Clarice," he said, somewhat reluctantly.
"I expect we shall be back with Lady Clarice safely in tow as soon as possible," Hawke said blandly, and rose. Their host was slow to display manners, but he did eventually stand. "Good day."
Sebastian felt the man's eyes on his back as Hawke led the way out of the major and back to her own home.
"That note wasn't written by a kidnapper," Sebastian said when they were safely within her walls.
"Of course it wasn't," Hawke said. "Unless someone tutored in the literary arts at the Orlesian court has turned to kidnapping directly instead of paying someone to do it for them."
Fenris looked between them, frowning.
"The handwriting and paper were far too fine to be from a ruffian," Sebastian explained.
"Not to mention the language, and the fact that they used Cassus for the month, not Haring," Hawke said. She pulled a face. "I'm curious why he'd kidnap his own daughter, and more curious yet that his need for a favor came up precisely in time for Lady Merinfort to hold it over my head, but I do love a good mystery."
"Are you sure about this, Hawke?" Sebastian asked. "There may be other options for handling that agreement."
Hawke's smile was thin and cold. "Oh, I'm quite sure," she said. "If only to know exactly what he's earned for his actions."
HIs grandfather had worn just such a look when dealing with particularly intransigent criminals. As a young lad, Sebastian had found it frightening. On Hawke's face, it was compelling.
"Forest roads in winter are a terrible experience," Hawke said absently. "We'll want to stock up on warm bedding and heavy cloaks--and horses. I'm not doing this on foot. Would you be able to depart tomorrow morning?"
"Yes," Sebastian said. "I need only tell the Grand Cleric that I will be absent." He hesitated. "I believe she expects it."
"Sebastian," Hawke said softly.
"We can speak of it later," he hurried to cut off whatever offer she had been about to make. "I will see you both tomorrow."
She was frowning as he left, but he did not want her making any promises about his throne she had not already made. Not until he could be truthful with her, and now was not the time.
He prayed he would have the right words when it was.
Chapter Seventeen