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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.
The Grand Cleric was praying at the foot of Andraste's statue, her gray head bent. Sebastian thought she'd chosen the spot deliberately. It was not her usual place of prayer, but it was his. He approached on quiet feet and she did not look up as he knelt beside her and bowed his own head. He recognized the prayer she was chanting and he picked it up on the next verse. They harmonized, as they had done before, and for a moment he wished his life could always be as simple as it had been before Hawke came to Kirkwall--a thought he knew to be unworthy of both Hawke and himself.
When the prayer came to an end, Elthina rose stiffly, her joints cracking under her heavy robes. Sebastian got to his feet more easily and offered her his arm, which she declined.
He braced for the lecture. She studied him for a long moment, then gave a faint nod, as though she had confirmed something or come to a decision.
"Walk with me, Brother Sebastian," she said quietly, and turned toward the nearest door leading into the living quarters.
He winced when her back was turned, but he followed her obediently. She led the way through the living quarters and out to the back garden. Here, the Chantry grew some of its own herbs for food, medicine, and incense, as well as keeping an ever-burning flame in honor of Andraste. The garden was empty, except for them.
She paused by the flame and added wood to it. Her hands were knobby with age and calloused with work. She still took her turns tending the Chantry and its environs, though perhaps less often as she grew older. It struck him that she had not been young when he came to the Kirkwall Chantry, and each year weighed heavier on her than he thought it should. Perhaps that was, in part, his failing.
"You have been spending a great deal of time with Serah Hawke," the Grand Cleric said, and Sebastian snapped back to attention. Though she was not looking at him, he nodded assent.
She stared at the flames. "I know you recently received a letter from Starkhaven." Her voice was soft, scarcely audible over the crackling. "I believe you have a choice to make, Sebastian. Whether you will hold to your vows, or cast them aside." She turned to look directly at him, her gaze piercing. "You cannot keep one foot on each side of the river. You have served the Chantry well and faithfully, but your yearning for the trappings of your old life inhibits your service. I pray you make the right decision."
He stood frozen. He had expected this conversation--they held a variant of it roughly annually since he had posted the bill for the Flint Company mercenaries and Hawke had answered--and each time before, her disapproval had weighed him down, held him in the Chantry even as he prayed nightly to Andraste for guidance.
This time, it tolled a dissonant note.
Starkhaven was crumbling under the mismanagement of a puppet king and the weight of power brokers struggling for their own position over the weal of the city. He was well aware that to answer its call meant to discard his vows, break the sacred covenant he had made to Andraste, and take up a mantle he had truly believed he no longer wanted. Yet it stung that the Grand Cleric, who had been so maternal toward him, misread his intentions as being a desire to return to his old life. If he took the throne of Starkhaven, he would have no time for carousing and misbehavior. Even if he did, he acknowledged, he did not want that life anymore; Hawke and Fenris would be quite enough for him, if they would have him, though that was selfish too; he could not continue the Starkhaven line with them.
He found that it did not matter.
What mattered was that his first calling had been to the city of his birth, and it needed him now. There was no one else to answer it. If Starkhaven fell, its people would suffer.
He met the Grand Cleric's gaze and took a moment to adjust the weight of her disappointment upon his shoulders; hers was not the first he had carried, and it would not be the last. "I do not desire the throne for the reasons you seem to think, and it wounds me that you think my wishes so base," he said slowly, "but you are right that I must make a choice." He swallowed hard. "I thank you, Grand Cleric, for the wisdom and kindness you have shown me, and for leading me to the light of the Maker when I was lost in the darkness." He bowed.
"Sebastian, you cannot be serious," she said. "You have taken vows--"
There were many things he might have said in reply. He might have reminded her that she had withheld his final dedication, deeming him unready. He might have told her that he felt the Maker's light burning bright in his heart, directing him back to Starkhaven. He might have asked her to give her blessing one last time.
He bowed again, with finality, and went to his quarters, leaving her behind at the fire.
There was little to pack. He took his armor, his weapon, his cousin's locket, and the two changes of clothing he was allotted as a Brother. He had been nearly due for a new set, and there were no other Brothers that his clothing would fit, so he crushed the guilt that whispered at him. He slung the simple pack over his shoulder and left the living quarters, stopping one last time in the Chantry to bow his head before the statue of Andraste. He was not sure he would be welcome here after this--was not sure he had it in him to face the Grand Cleric again, he corrected.
He wasn't sure what drew his attention to the templars praying by a side wall. It was a common enough sight for some of them, the ones who joined the Gallows out of a sense of duty and belief in the Chant. Yet he recognized none of these templars, and they were not fresh recruits to judge by the rank insignia they wore.
He moved nearer.
"--Your light illumine our quest for justice," the one who seemed to be leading the prayer was saying.
He thought he recognized one of them, a dark-haired man, but couldn't say from where. Certainly not from regular visits to the Chantry. Sebastian knew the names and stories of every templar who regularly prayed here.
They finished their prayer and rose, and without consciously considering it, he found himself trailing them. Something about their purposeful movement--together, as a fighting unit--sat poorly with him. He was no Varric or Isabela, to move silently in the shadows of a city and charm locks open with metal tools, but hunting game took some of the same skills, and at that he was proficient.
They crossed Hightown with brisk purpose, though they did not approach the residential area where Hawke and Fenris lived. Instead, they headed for the Merchants' Guild, and Sebastian swallowed a curse when he remembered that Hawke had said something earlier about needing to meet someone there tonight. The templars arrayed themselves in shadowed areas around the massive stone building, and one placed herself in plain view of the lanterns hanging outside it.
He heard footsteps and looked to see Hawke approaching, side by side with Fenris. They were talking about something, and he heard Hawke laugh. The lookout signaled, and the other templars gathered themselves.
He unslung his bow, nocked an arrow, and waited, the arrow pointed at the ground.
"Ser Alais?" Hawke asked, pausing a cautious distance from the lookout.
"Serah Hawke." The lookout nodded. "Thank you for coming."
"Your note was most intriguing," Hawke said. "How can I help you keep Kirkwall safe?"
Ser Alais adjusted her shield. "I've been investigating Ser Karras's death," she said. "I believe you knew him."
"It's possible I met him," Hawke said, "but there are a great many templars in Kirkwall, and I do not know them all by name. I am sorry to hear of your loss."
Ser Alais curled her lip. "I might believe you, if you hadn't killed him."
A subtle tension ran through Fenris--it showed in the flex of his shoulders, the way he steadied himself on bare feet to be more balanced. Hawke kept standing, hip-shot, a faint smile on her face. "This is sounding less like an investigation and more like an accusation, ser."
Ser Alais adjusted her shield again, and two templars in Sebastian's line of sight settled into fighting stances, their swords raised. Sebastian raised his bow, the arrow pointed at Ser Alais. Fenris shifted his weight slightly.
Alais drew her sword, and Sebastian loosed his arrow. Templars poured out of the shadows, only to be met with a twisting mass of vines as Merrill--hidden behind Hawke until now--unleashed her magic. Fenris's sword gleamed in lyrium-light, dancing like a wind-bent candle flame through the templar ranks. Hawke simply unleashed a frozen arc that clattered off the buildings and chilled Sebastian even at his fair distance. Meanwhile, Sebastian used the advantage of range to choose targets as a hunter tried to sneak up on the two mages. His arrow landed a moment too late, and Merrill cried out in pain at the gash that opened her shoulder, but a moment later the templars had cause to regret their companion's success. Merrill's blood fueled her magic, and templars fell like a child's house of sticks. Light flared around her as Hawke healed their wounds. Sebastian chose another target, and another.
Stillness and silence descended abruptly.
Sebastian checked for more enemies, but this area of Hightown was nearly silent. There were people still working in the Merchants' Guild, to judge by the faint glow in some upper windows, but he didn't think they were much interested in a battle's aftermath. He slung his bow back and crossed the cobblestones to where the others stood. Fenris snapped to attention, sword singing in his hands, but pulled back when he recognized Sebastian.
"Thank you for the help," Hawke said, without looking up from the cut she was tending on Merrill's arm, and Sebastian felt a warm rush that she had known it was him.
"I'm glad I was here to help," Sebastian replied.
"How did that come about?" Fenris asked.
"Let's not do this in the middle of the street," Hawke said, finishing with Merrill. "Where there is one band of vengeful templars, there's likely to be another. Sebastian, are you hurt?"
"No, I was well out of range," he said.
"Good." Hawke looked around. "Let's talk. My house?"
"Better suited for company than mine," Fenris said, and Hawke smiled, that sudden lightning flash that made Sebastian feel like he could sense the Maker's hand here in the world. She led the way through Hightown. When they arrived at her house, Bodahn and Orana quickly provided some light refreshments and supplies for their cuts and scrapes. Sebastian set his small pack aside with his weapons and offered his assistance to Fenris, who had a few minor wounds that Sebastian knew he would not ask Hawke to heal.
Fenris sat quietly as Sebastian cleaned and bandaged the wounds, his expression scarcely changing when Sebastian applied ointment or cleaned a scrape. Hawke was checking her own injuries, which were not much other than a raw pink scar on her arm that had recently been a deep cut. Merrill perched nearby, clucking over Hawke's scrapes and ignoring the slow ooze of blood from a cut she'd made on her own arm--which Hawke then healed.
"Merrill--" Hawke began.
"Yes, I'll stay," Merrill said, anticipating the question. "I'd be fine going back to the Alienage, but it will make you feel better." She touched Hawke's hand lightly. "Do you mind if I go straight to bed?"
"Your usual room is ready, serah," Bodahn interjected.
"Go ahead." Hawke smiled. "Ma serannas, Merrill." She pronounced the words with care, and Merrill's answering smile was all the warmth of a sunlit meadow.
Sebastian shook his head slightly. He was being far too poetic.
Merrill slipped away up the stairs, and Hawke turned to Sebastian. Her eyes fell on the pack. "Were you on your way somewhere?" she asked.
He squared his shoulders. "It's...complicated."
"Complicated deserves wine," she decided, and turned to the table to pour herself a glass. "The library's more comfortable."
He followed her into the library. She had quaffed half her wine before she dropped onto her favorite couch. Fenris sat beside her, treating his wine with more care, as Sebastian might have expected.
They both looked at him expectantly. "So how did you come to be outside the Merchants' Guild tonight?" Hawke prompted.
"I was preparing to leave the Chantry for good, and I saw the templars praying and then leaving together. It made me uneasy, so I followed them."
The silence that fell was prickling and weighty, and he breathed deep. The words cut him more than he had expected. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them to face their reaction.
"Help me out here," Hawke said after a moment, "because I'm a little dazed still from the fight and also the wine." She set her wineglass down carefully. "You left the Chantry."
He felt the weight of that statement like a blow, though he knew she hadn't intended it. "As the Grand Cleric told me tonight, I cannot keep one foot on each side." He could feel the weight of her gaze, and Fenris's, upon him, and couldn't meet them, so he stared at the fireplace. "I cannot serve Starkhaven as a Vael while serving the Chantry as a Brother, and...my final dedication kept being delayed. The news I received from Starkhaven meant I had to choose. And I chose my homeland."
"I made you a promise," Hawke said. "I'm almost done here." Her expression, when he glanced at her, was pensive. "After I resolve the problems in the Gallows--or at least make them different before I drop them in someone else's lap--I can fulfill that promise."
He laughed a little, as he thought she had intended. "I don't need to leave right away," he said. "It takes time to plan this sort of thing. I did it poorly before."
"Mm. Battles do take planning." She swung one leg idly. "What news from Starkhaven?"
"None since we last spoke of it." He rubbed his eyes. "I cannot honestly say I am equipped to solve these problems, or even that I'd be better at them than my cousin....but I have to try."
Hawke looked at Fenris. They didn't speak aloud, but seemed to confirm something they had previously discussed. Hawke looked back to him. "If you've left the Chantry," she said, "you'll need a place to stay, I think. Here will do, if you'd like."
"I didn't expect--" he stuttered.
"This house is too big for me," Hawke said, but the softness around her eyes and mouth showed that she was not as flippant as she tried to be.
"Thank you, Hawke," he said with as much sincerity as he could.
She nodded, rather than speaking, and retrieved her wineglass. A moment later, she looked up, her demeanor shifted to one of mischief. "So you've left the Chantry fully behind?"
It was easy to grasp her meaning, and Sebastian felt a blush rising up his face. "I can't say that," he said. "Some of my vows were taken in Starkhaven, and...I would like to ask the Grand Cleric's blessing."
"Then you will," Hawke said, and then had to stifle a yawn. "I'm sorry. I think I need to sleep. Bodahn and Orana will prepare a room for you." She rose and touched his shoulder lightly on her way out of the room. Fenris followed her. Sebastian heard her speaking to Bodahn in the hall, and went to gather his belongings. Soon enough he was settled in a pleasant room, with the softest bed he'd had in over a decade and cozy rugs to warm the stone floors beneath his toes. He tucked himself in, and was immediately asleep.
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.
The Grand Cleric was praying at the foot of Andraste's statue, her gray head bent. Sebastian thought she'd chosen the spot deliberately. It was not her usual place of prayer, but it was his. He approached on quiet feet and she did not look up as he knelt beside her and bowed his own head. He recognized the prayer she was chanting and he picked it up on the next verse. They harmonized, as they had done before, and for a moment he wished his life could always be as simple as it had been before Hawke came to Kirkwall--a thought he knew to be unworthy of both Hawke and himself.
When the prayer came to an end, Elthina rose stiffly, her joints cracking under her heavy robes. Sebastian got to his feet more easily and offered her his arm, which she declined.
He braced for the lecture. She studied him for a long moment, then gave a faint nod, as though she had confirmed something or come to a decision.
"Walk with me, Brother Sebastian," she said quietly, and turned toward the nearest door leading into the living quarters.
He winced when her back was turned, but he followed her obediently. She led the way through the living quarters and out to the back garden. Here, the Chantry grew some of its own herbs for food, medicine, and incense, as well as keeping an ever-burning flame in honor of Andraste. The garden was empty, except for them.
She paused by the flame and added wood to it. Her hands were knobby with age and calloused with work. She still took her turns tending the Chantry and its environs, though perhaps less often as she grew older. It struck him that she had not been young when he came to the Kirkwall Chantry, and each year weighed heavier on her than he thought it should. Perhaps that was, in part, his failing.
"You have been spending a great deal of time with Serah Hawke," the Grand Cleric said, and Sebastian snapped back to attention. Though she was not looking at him, he nodded assent.
She stared at the flames. "I know you recently received a letter from Starkhaven." Her voice was soft, scarcely audible over the crackling. "I believe you have a choice to make, Sebastian. Whether you will hold to your vows, or cast them aside." She turned to look directly at him, her gaze piercing. "You cannot keep one foot on each side of the river. You have served the Chantry well and faithfully, but your yearning for the trappings of your old life inhibits your service. I pray you make the right decision."
He stood frozen. He had expected this conversation--they held a variant of it roughly annually since he had posted the bill for the Flint Company mercenaries and Hawke had answered--and each time before, her disapproval had weighed him down, held him in the Chantry even as he prayed nightly to Andraste for guidance.
This time, it tolled a dissonant note.
Starkhaven was crumbling under the mismanagement of a puppet king and the weight of power brokers struggling for their own position over the weal of the city. He was well aware that to answer its call meant to discard his vows, break the sacred covenant he had made to Andraste, and take up a mantle he had truly believed he no longer wanted. Yet it stung that the Grand Cleric, who had been so maternal toward him, misread his intentions as being a desire to return to his old life. If he took the throne of Starkhaven, he would have no time for carousing and misbehavior. Even if he did, he acknowledged, he did not want that life anymore; Hawke and Fenris would be quite enough for him, if they would have him, though that was selfish too; he could not continue the Starkhaven line with them.
He found that it did not matter.
What mattered was that his first calling had been to the city of his birth, and it needed him now. There was no one else to answer it. If Starkhaven fell, its people would suffer.
He met the Grand Cleric's gaze and took a moment to adjust the weight of her disappointment upon his shoulders; hers was not the first he had carried, and it would not be the last. "I do not desire the throne for the reasons you seem to think, and it wounds me that you think my wishes so base," he said slowly, "but you are right that I must make a choice." He swallowed hard. "I thank you, Grand Cleric, for the wisdom and kindness you have shown me, and for leading me to the light of the Maker when I was lost in the darkness." He bowed.
"Sebastian, you cannot be serious," she said. "You have taken vows--"
There were many things he might have said in reply. He might have reminded her that she had withheld his final dedication, deeming him unready. He might have told her that he felt the Maker's light burning bright in his heart, directing him back to Starkhaven. He might have asked her to give her blessing one last time.
He bowed again, with finality, and went to his quarters, leaving her behind at the fire.
There was little to pack. He took his armor, his weapon, his cousin's locket, and the two changes of clothing he was allotted as a Brother. He had been nearly due for a new set, and there were no other Brothers that his clothing would fit, so he crushed the guilt that whispered at him. He slung the simple pack over his shoulder and left the living quarters, stopping one last time in the Chantry to bow his head before the statue of Andraste. He was not sure he would be welcome here after this--was not sure he had it in him to face the Grand Cleric again, he corrected.
He wasn't sure what drew his attention to the templars praying by a side wall. It was a common enough sight for some of them, the ones who joined the Gallows out of a sense of duty and belief in the Chant. Yet he recognized none of these templars, and they were not fresh recruits to judge by the rank insignia they wore.
He moved nearer.
"--Your light illumine our quest for justice," the one who seemed to be leading the prayer was saying.
He thought he recognized one of them, a dark-haired man, but couldn't say from where. Certainly not from regular visits to the Chantry. Sebastian knew the names and stories of every templar who regularly prayed here.
They finished their prayer and rose, and without consciously considering it, he found himself trailing them. Something about their purposeful movement--together, as a fighting unit--sat poorly with him. He was no Varric or Isabela, to move silently in the shadows of a city and charm locks open with metal tools, but hunting game took some of the same skills, and at that he was proficient.
They crossed Hightown with brisk purpose, though they did not approach the residential area where Hawke and Fenris lived. Instead, they headed for the Merchants' Guild, and Sebastian swallowed a curse when he remembered that Hawke had said something earlier about needing to meet someone there tonight. The templars arrayed themselves in shadowed areas around the massive stone building, and one placed herself in plain view of the lanterns hanging outside it.
He heard footsteps and looked to see Hawke approaching, side by side with Fenris. They were talking about something, and he heard Hawke laugh. The lookout signaled, and the other templars gathered themselves.
He unslung his bow, nocked an arrow, and waited, the arrow pointed at the ground.
"Ser Alais?" Hawke asked, pausing a cautious distance from the lookout.
"Serah Hawke." The lookout nodded. "Thank you for coming."
"Your note was most intriguing," Hawke said. "How can I help you keep Kirkwall safe?"
Ser Alais adjusted her shield. "I've been investigating Ser Karras's death," she said. "I believe you knew him."
"It's possible I met him," Hawke said, "but there are a great many templars in Kirkwall, and I do not know them all by name. I am sorry to hear of your loss."
Ser Alais curled her lip. "I might believe you, if you hadn't killed him."
A subtle tension ran through Fenris--it showed in the flex of his shoulders, the way he steadied himself on bare feet to be more balanced. Hawke kept standing, hip-shot, a faint smile on her face. "This is sounding less like an investigation and more like an accusation, ser."
Ser Alais adjusted her shield again, and two templars in Sebastian's line of sight settled into fighting stances, their swords raised. Sebastian raised his bow, the arrow pointed at Ser Alais. Fenris shifted his weight slightly.
Alais drew her sword, and Sebastian loosed his arrow. Templars poured out of the shadows, only to be met with a twisting mass of vines as Merrill--hidden behind Hawke until now--unleashed her magic. Fenris's sword gleamed in lyrium-light, dancing like a wind-bent candle flame through the templar ranks. Hawke simply unleashed a frozen arc that clattered off the buildings and chilled Sebastian even at his fair distance. Meanwhile, Sebastian used the advantage of range to choose targets as a hunter tried to sneak up on the two mages. His arrow landed a moment too late, and Merrill cried out in pain at the gash that opened her shoulder, but a moment later the templars had cause to regret their companion's success. Merrill's blood fueled her magic, and templars fell like a child's house of sticks. Light flared around her as Hawke healed their wounds. Sebastian chose another target, and another.
Stillness and silence descended abruptly.
Sebastian checked for more enemies, but this area of Hightown was nearly silent. There were people still working in the Merchants' Guild, to judge by the faint glow in some upper windows, but he didn't think they were much interested in a battle's aftermath. He slung his bow back and crossed the cobblestones to where the others stood. Fenris snapped to attention, sword singing in his hands, but pulled back when he recognized Sebastian.
"Thank you for the help," Hawke said, without looking up from the cut she was tending on Merrill's arm, and Sebastian felt a warm rush that she had known it was him.
"I'm glad I was here to help," Sebastian replied.
"How did that come about?" Fenris asked.
"Let's not do this in the middle of the street," Hawke said, finishing with Merrill. "Where there is one band of vengeful templars, there's likely to be another. Sebastian, are you hurt?"
"No, I was well out of range," he said.
"Good." Hawke looked around. "Let's talk. My house?"
"Better suited for company than mine," Fenris said, and Hawke smiled, that sudden lightning flash that made Sebastian feel like he could sense the Maker's hand here in the world. She led the way through Hightown. When they arrived at her house, Bodahn and Orana quickly provided some light refreshments and supplies for their cuts and scrapes. Sebastian set his small pack aside with his weapons and offered his assistance to Fenris, who had a few minor wounds that Sebastian knew he would not ask Hawke to heal.
Fenris sat quietly as Sebastian cleaned and bandaged the wounds, his expression scarcely changing when Sebastian applied ointment or cleaned a scrape. Hawke was checking her own injuries, which were not much other than a raw pink scar on her arm that had recently been a deep cut. Merrill perched nearby, clucking over Hawke's scrapes and ignoring the slow ooze of blood from a cut she'd made on her own arm--which Hawke then healed.
"Merrill--" Hawke began.
"Yes, I'll stay," Merrill said, anticipating the question. "I'd be fine going back to the Alienage, but it will make you feel better." She touched Hawke's hand lightly. "Do you mind if I go straight to bed?"
"Your usual room is ready, serah," Bodahn interjected.
"Go ahead." Hawke smiled. "Ma serannas, Merrill." She pronounced the words with care, and Merrill's answering smile was all the warmth of a sunlit meadow.
Sebastian shook his head slightly. He was being far too poetic.
Merrill slipped away up the stairs, and Hawke turned to Sebastian. Her eyes fell on the pack. "Were you on your way somewhere?" she asked.
He squared his shoulders. "It's...complicated."
"Complicated deserves wine," she decided, and turned to the table to pour herself a glass. "The library's more comfortable."
He followed her into the library. She had quaffed half her wine before she dropped onto her favorite couch. Fenris sat beside her, treating his wine with more care, as Sebastian might have expected.
They both looked at him expectantly. "So how did you come to be outside the Merchants' Guild tonight?" Hawke prompted.
"I was preparing to leave the Chantry for good, and I saw the templars praying and then leaving together. It made me uneasy, so I followed them."
The silence that fell was prickling and weighty, and he breathed deep. The words cut him more than he had expected. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them to face their reaction.
"Help me out here," Hawke said after a moment, "because I'm a little dazed still from the fight and also the wine." She set her wineglass down carefully. "You left the Chantry."
He felt the weight of that statement like a blow, though he knew she hadn't intended it. "As the Grand Cleric told me tonight, I cannot keep one foot on each side." He could feel the weight of her gaze, and Fenris's, upon him, and couldn't meet them, so he stared at the fireplace. "I cannot serve Starkhaven as a Vael while serving the Chantry as a Brother, and...my final dedication kept being delayed. The news I received from Starkhaven meant I had to choose. And I chose my homeland."
"I made you a promise," Hawke said. "I'm almost done here." Her expression, when he glanced at her, was pensive. "After I resolve the problems in the Gallows--or at least make them different before I drop them in someone else's lap--I can fulfill that promise."
He laughed a little, as he thought she had intended. "I don't need to leave right away," he said. "It takes time to plan this sort of thing. I did it poorly before."
"Mm. Battles do take planning." She swung one leg idly. "What news from Starkhaven?"
"None since we last spoke of it." He rubbed his eyes. "I cannot honestly say I am equipped to solve these problems, or even that I'd be better at them than my cousin....but I have to try."
Hawke looked at Fenris. They didn't speak aloud, but seemed to confirm something they had previously discussed. Hawke looked back to him. "If you've left the Chantry," she said, "you'll need a place to stay, I think. Here will do, if you'd like."
"I didn't expect--" he stuttered.
"This house is too big for me," Hawke said, but the softness around her eyes and mouth showed that she was not as flippant as she tried to be.
"Thank you, Hawke," he said with as much sincerity as he could.
She nodded, rather than speaking, and retrieved her wineglass. A moment later, she looked up, her demeanor shifted to one of mischief. "So you've left the Chantry fully behind?"
It was easy to grasp her meaning, and Sebastian felt a blush rising up his face. "I can't say that," he said. "Some of my vows were taken in Starkhaven, and...I would like to ask the Grand Cleric's blessing."
"Then you will," Hawke said, and then had to stifle a yawn. "I'm sorry. I think I need to sleep. Bodahn and Orana will prepare a room for you." She rose and touched his shoulder lightly on her way out of the room. Fenris followed her. Sebastian heard her speaking to Bodahn in the hall, and went to gather his belongings. Soon enough he was settled in a pleasant room, with the softest bed he'd had in over a decade and cozy rugs to warm the stone floors beneath his toes. He tucked himself in, and was immediately asleep.