Where Duty Lies: Chapter 11 - Left Behind

[basbaker]

 
Title: Left Behind
Rating: M - mild language, mature themes
Author: basbaker
Word Count: 5421

Three days after she and Sebastian had parted on such bad terms, Hawke decided that it was time to clear the air. At first, she hadn't been able to see beyond the hurt and anger that Sebastian's abrupt withdrawal had caused her. Then stubbornness had taken over. She was not in the wrong. It wasn't her fault that he couldn't make up his mind whether to be prince or priest. She had tried for months now to treat him as a friend despite her deeper feelings. He was the one that kept making friendship so bloody difficult.

But at night as she lay alone in the dark, she would relive the feeling of his kisses, his hands on her, the way that his touch and ardent blue eyes had become her world for those treasured moments. Hard on the heels of that memory came the moment when he had pulled away from her so completely. He had dismissed her so that he could wrestle with his conscience and his perceived failure to Andraste. That feeling of being cast aside, especially after what he had made her feel, cut deeply. The last thing she wanted was to give in to what she considered her weakness, apologizing to him for what she had done and said. But in the end, it was the days of not seeing him that made her swallow her pride.

Sometime over the past few months, very gradually, she and Sebastian had come to spend a great deal of time together. In the mornings she would go to the Chantry and together they would study the sermons or the Chant of Light. In the afternoon, Sebastian would come to her estate and they would spar in the gardens while she learned the quarterstaff. They spent many of their evenings together as well, continuing to do what they could to eliminate the revived slave trade in Kirkwall, or combating the gangs and mercenaries that preyed on the helpless. He had even become a familiar face at the Hanged Man, spending time with all of the group, becoming one of them. She had come to rely on his advice, his solid presence, his friendship.

It had only been three days, but without him those days had been empty. She missed him.

If she put emotion aside and listened to reason, Hawke knew that Sebastian was suffering. It was not just for her own sake that she had tried so hard to hide her growing feelings for him. She truly respected his choice to devote himself to a life of religious service, and even admired the depth of his commitment. For weeks now, she had felt guilty for selfishly claiming so much of his time. If he had been led into temptation, she had to admit to herself that she had been doing some of the leading. And when he finally reached his breaking point, she had flung his guilt and disappointment in himself back at him, calling him a coward. It was no wonder that he continued to avoid all contact with her.

His absence had been noted by her other companions, too. They had all watched with varying opinions as the relationship between Hawke and Sebastian flourished. And now, whether or not they discussed Sebastian in front of her, Hawke knew that they wondered what had happened. That Anders seemed to have an idea was not lost on her, and she still remembered Sebastian's comment about him being right. Despite her curiosity, she had so far let the matter lie. She was not prepared to discuss any of the uncomfortable situation with her friends until she had first settled things with Sebastian, and maybe not even then.

Settling things was uppermost in her mind as Hawke entered the Chantry. She had no real hope of everything going back to the way it was, but she was prepared to do whatever she could to salvage her friendship with Sebastian, even if it meant giving up any hope of being something more. She didn't think she could bear to lose him entirely.

The sanctuary was quiet so early in the morning. Those faithful who attended the earliest devotions were few. They gathered in one area of the long room, listening to the Chant recited quietly by one of the revered mothers. Hawke would have paused a moment to listen, to let the Chant soothe her nerves, but the Grand Cleric had just entered the sanctuary. Spying Hawke near the doorway, she began to move her direction. Hawke had little choice but to meet her halfway.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she said softly, not wishing to disturb the worshipers.

“Good morning, child,” Elthina responded, smiling in a way that made the corners of her eyes crinkle. Hawke was always surprised at how much emotion the Grand Cleric's face could show, from deepest sorrow to joy. She often wondered how much the woman must have seen in a lifetime of service to the Maker.

“What brings you to the Chantry so early? With your favorite priest gone, I must say I expected your devotion to wane just a little,” Elthina gently teased her. She had not failed to see all the time that Sebastian spent with Hawke, and while it worried her, she had so far been confident that they both behaved themselves. It was this confidence that had kept her silent on the matter. For now, she was far more concerned with Sebastian's obsession with vengeance.

But she saw that Hawke wasn't smiling. In fact, the girl looked stunned.

“Gone?” she echoed, as if she was testing the word.

“Yes. Three days ago. He told me that he was going to speak with you before he left for Tantervale. Apparently, he didn't.”

“No,” Hawke managed, trying not to sound as surprised as she felt. Or as hurt. “He said he'd had some news about his family... but then we were interrupted. He didn't tell me he was leaving.”

Elthina was no fool. She saw the shadowed expression in Hawke's eyes and heard the pain that she tried to mask in her voice. Her suspicions grew with the girl's next question.

“Did he say when he would be back, or perhaps... leave anything for me?”

“No, my child. I'm sorry, but he left nothing. When I asked, he said that he would be gone weeks, at the least.”

“Of course. Thank you, Your Grace.” Hawke forced a smile and curtsied to the Grand Cleric. “I will keep him in my prayers then.” Inside, she was wrestling with a hurt that threatened to overwhelm her. She needed to get back outside. Even with its high ceiling and wide open sanctuary, the Chantry felt like it was closing in on her.

“May the Maker guide your path, my dear,” Elthina's quiet benediction followed after her as she fled.

When Hawke left the sanctuary, the Grand Cleric's face grew troubled. She wondered what had happened between those two to make Sebastian's sudden absence so painful. She herself had argued against his going, citing his duties here at the Chantry, his vows that he claimed to honor. But in light of what she had just seen, his inability to let his worldly family go might be the least of his distractions from the Maker. Sebastian Vael, it seemed, had some explaining to do.

~*~

Hawke didn't really remember walking back through Hightown. It was almost a surprise when the front door of the estate was before her. Sometime during the short journey, the pain that had settled into her with the Grand Cleric's words had turned cold. Sebastian was gone. He hadn't even left a note. She supposed she had only herself to blame for it. She had called him a coward and told him that she didn't want to see him again, if not in those exact words. That he seemed to have taken it to heart was a bitter irony.

She let herself into the manor, waving Bodhan off as he entered the hall to see if she needed anything. All she wanted to do was sit down for a few minutes and think. She went upstairs and entered her room only to be stopped short on the threshold. Everywhere she looked, garments were strewn about in colorful confusion. Silks, woolens, linens, all haphazardly thrown over every available surface. And in the midst of the chaos, fighting with a lock on the chest at the foot of her bed, was Isabela. She looked over when Hawke entered and got to her feet, hiding the thieves tools behind her back.

Her troubles for the moment completely forgotten, Hawke looked slowly around the room, then focused on Isabela. One dark honey brow lifted. This explanation she had to hear.

“What?” Isabela asked, all injured innocence. “I was going to clean it up when I finished.”

“Finished what exactly?” Hawke fought against a smile. Trust Isabela to get caught red-handed, rummaging through someone's personal belongings, then act as if she had every right to be there. She was nothing if not bold.

“Looking for your magic potions, of course.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Isabela waved a hand airily. The thieves tools seemed to have disappeared somewhere into the skin-tight, revealing outfit she wore. Best not to dwell on it, Hawke thought.

“Your magic potions. The stuff that you drink or wear or whatever that makes the men fall all over themselves trying to get you to notice them. I imagine it must be some combination of lyrium and... I don't know. Virgin's tears maybe.”

“Isabela, what in blazes are you talking about? I don't have any magic potions. And if I did, it's not like you need them. Just look at you.”

Isabela did, taking an assessing look at her profile in the tall mirror nearby. She ran a smoothing hand along her side, past a full, firm breast, trim waist and down over one generous hip. “Yes yes, I know that. But only a fool passes up an edge.”

Hawke lost the battle against laughter. The thought of the dark, voluptuous beauty needing any extra edge with men, or women, was ludicrous. “First cheating at cards, now this. Give the rest of us a chance, Bela.”

Isabela favored her with a sultry pout, though her dark eyes twinkled. “I've given you plenty. One of these times you might actually take one.” A sudden thought had her eyes narrowing. “Maybe your potions work on women, too.”

“I'm sorry to tell you, but I truly don't have magic potions. I have some soap if you like - it smells of violets. Very pretty.”

The Rivaini plopped down onto Hawke's bed, lounging back on her elbows to watch Hawke as she spoke.

“Fine. Save them for yourself. Whatever you do, it's effective. Anders has been mooning over you like a lovesick puppy since I first met the two of you. Anyone listening to Varric's stories would think you were the Hero of Ferelden's more adventurous sister. I can safely say, by the way, that you are no more adventurous than she was, at least not so far. Even Fenris watches you. Constantly. He doesn't even realize it. And don't get me started on your handsome priest. You, my sweet, don't need any more of an edge.”

The smiling expression on Hawke's face was wiped clean in an instant at the mention of Sebastian. How interesting, Isabela thought. She had been dying to know what had happened between them to make the priest stop coming around, but this looked worse than she had imagined. She waited, not without hope, for Hawke to enlighten her.

“No, I won't get you started on him,” she said quietly, turning away and beginning to pick up the colorful silk dresses that Isabela had consigned to the floor. “I don't know what you mean about the others, but with him at least you're wrong. There's not enough magic in the world to make him see me.”

“Give me a break,” Isabela rolled her eyes. “If the man were to “see” you any more clearly, he would have to spend all his time in confession.”

Hawke busied herself hanging the silks back up in the wardrobe, keeping her back to Bela to hide the telltale blush on her cheeks. “He doesn't see me, Bela. He sees temptation.”

“...So?”

She couldn't help but smile, turning to give her friend a pointed look over one shoulder. “For him, temptation is something to fight. I'm not even sure that I count as a person sometimes - more like a challenge, or a test.

“And whether he passes or fails, I lose.”

Isabela was sometimes flighty, usually self-absorbed, and always unwilling to dive into sticky emotional messes. But she had grown close to Hawke in the past year. The pirate could count on one hand the people in her life that she could truly call friends, and Hawke was one of them. She felt a flash of irritation for the absent Sebastian. Men.

“And did he pass, or fail?” It depended on who you asked, as far as she was concerned.

“I think it was a draw.”

Hawke explained quietly, with as little detail as possible, what had happened in the parlor three days ago. Isabela listened, keeping her thoughts to herself for most of it, but one part made her start up from the bed, holding up a hand to stop everything.

“Wait. Your mother walked in on you? Hawke! Haven't you ever heard of locking a door?”

“I didn't think it was going to happen, Bela! We've been just friends for months. It wouldn't have happened if I wasn't such a mess.”

“Maybe not then,” Isabela smirked. “But don't lie to yourself, sweet. It was only a matter of time.”

Hawke shook her head even though she knew the other woman was right. She had been courting disaster for a while now. She was the last person who should be surprised that it had finally struck.

“Well, Mother effectively killed the mood. Sebastian started in with the self-disgust, basically ignoring me and any part I played. The end of it is that I called him a coward, and he left.”

“Good for you,” Isabela approved. “Spot-on, too. The way he's been looking at you lately, I've half expected the air to catch fire. Maker this and Maker that, and all the while he wanted his hands all over you. Piss or get off the pot already.”

“I think it's safe to say that he decided to get off the pot,” Hawke said with an uncharacteristic note of bitterness. “He's gone. From Kirkwall I mean. He left that same morning, without any word.”

“He ran away?”

“Not exactly. It was something about his family's deaths. He left for Tantervale, I guess to chase a lead.”

“Bullshit. Maybe he did, but without telling you?”

“He came here to tell me, Bela. We just kept getting interrupted, and then... well, you know.”

“Stop defending the man,” Bela ordered, unimpressed. “After what he did to you, or maybe I should say didn't do to you, there is no way that he gets to run off without a word and leave you behind. I've told Merrill that men are only good for one thing, and apparently he wasn't even good for that. Unbelievable.”

The blush that suffused Hawke's pale cheeks made Isabela sigh inwardly. Alright, so apparently the prince had been good for that, even if his technique lacked follow-through. But still, she was damned if she was going to let any friend of hers sit around and mope over a stupid man. In her opinion, this couldn't have come at a better time. Hawke wasn't the type to fall out of love once she had fallen into it, but maybe it wasn't too late to head that off. She needed to get her friend laid, and fast. There were plenty more men to be had, and most of them had no pesky vows of chastity to worry about.

“I know exactly what you need.”

Brushing Hawke aside, she once again searched through the wardrobe that she had earlier ransacked. But this time, she studied each dress and blouse that hung there, finally withdrawing one that Hawke had never found the opportunity yet to wear. It was a blouse of dark green silk, in a style that Isabela preferred. Low cut, laced in front and tight at the waist, the blouse flared slightly over the hips and had long, flowing sleeves gathered at the wrist. She held it up to Hawke critically and nodded after a moment.

“I'm going to be back tonight after sunset to collect you. Wear this. And when you pick a set of breeches to go along with it, make sure they're a pair of those fitted ones that you wear once in a while. Black would be nice. Boots, jewelry, maybe a little rouge and kohl. Nevermind. I'll get you fixed up when I come back. And don't forget your potion.”

“What are you talking about, Bela? I don't want to go anywhere. And I don't have any potions!”

“Then use your flowery soap! We're going for a girls' night out, and I for one don't intend to hold back. It will be good for you. You'll see.”

Before Hawke could protest further, Isabela was out of her room and down the stairs to the main hall. She needed to round up Merrill and Aveline. Getting Hawke to dress like a woman bent on seduction was going to be nothing compared to getting Aveline out of that blasted city guard armor for once. And explaining everything to Merrill... she didn't even want to think about it. Maker's blood, the things she did in the name of friendship.

~*~

The last time Hawke had felt this conspicuous, she had been eleven years old and trying not to cringe every time one of the templars looked her way. They had been searching for the apostate that 'attacked' a group of local village boys, but since no one had seen exactly what happened, they had no idea who they were hunting. But she had felt their searching looks like a weight on her mind, knowing at any second that they would accuse her and drag her away from her home.

This was a lot like that, only worse. Isabela had returned, true to her word, to collect Hawke at sunset. She had taken one look at the mage and thrown her hands up in the air. Without a word, she had taken her back to her bedroom and applied the cosmetics that Hawke had skipped. She had pulled the shoulders of the blouse down until Hawke's own creamy shoulders were bare and the first swell of her breasts was visible over the top of the blouse's square neckline. When the Rivaini was finally satisfied that Hawke was as alluring as she could make her - and she did admit to herself that Hawke looked pretty damn good - she smiled and stepped back.

“Anders will swallow his tongue if he gets a look at you in this outfit,” she had predicted.

“I look like I should be whoring myself at the Blooming Rose,” Hawke replied sourly.

“I didn't even think about the Blooming Rose!” Isabela had smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. “I must be slipping. Well, if this fails, at least we have a fallback plan.”

And now they stood on the threshold of The Weakest Link, one of Lowtown's better taverns despite the name. Hawke felt like every eye in the place was trained directly at her, and she was partly right. The two women made a striking pair. Isabela was taller, her figure lush and inviting, not much of it hidden beneath the sleeveless, partly laced linen tunic and the high boots that were close to being her only attire. Isabela with her dark skin, black hair and sultry brown eyes was an exotic black pearl amid the fairer complexions of most of Kirkwall's citizens. By contrast, Hawke was small with a neat, shapely figure and a reserved air. Her hair gleamed like sunlit amber in the lantern light, and the cosmetics that Isabela had expertly applied gave her cheeks a healthy blush and made her eyes look deeper and smokier than she would have thought they could.

With all the unfamiliar faces, most of them male, Hawke was relieved when she picked out the features of Merrill and Aveline in the crowd. Not waiting for Isabela, who had already found herself greeted by an enthusiastic acquaintance, Hawke made her way over to their table as quickly as she could. She felt eyes following her progress and wished that she had ignored Isabela and worn something a little less revealing. She dropped into a chair next to Aveline with a relieved sigh.

“What in the Void am I doing here, Aveline?”

“I imagine That Woman browbeat you the same as she did me. When I told her I intended to wear my uniform no matter what she said, she accused me of being a bad friend.” Aveline's green eyes were indignant, and Hawke didn't have to ask how the discussion had ended. The guardswoman - soon to be made Guard Captain once the formalities were handled - was dressed tonight in a simple brown linen tunic and loose breeches tucked into sensible looking hide boots. Her sword was belted at her waist, though the templar shield from her late husband was nowhere in evidence. Apparently Isabela's words had carried some weight after all.

“She couldn't have meant it, Aveline” Merrill chimed in, her voice lyrical with its Dalish cadences. “No one who knows you would believe it.”

“That Woman has a way of getting what she wants, even so.”

“Maker forbid!” Hawke said earnestly. “I told Bela that I look like I should be working at the Blooming Rose, and she said we can use that as our fallback plan.”

The trio erupted into laughter, drawing most of the male eyes in the room. It set the tone for the night. Hawke tried to convince herself that she was having a good time, and sometimes she even forgot about Sebastian long enough to actually believe it. The fact that not one of her friends mentioned Sebastian all evening was enough to tell Hawke that they knew everything, or at least enough. While that was a little embarrassing, she had to admit that not having to talk about it was a relief. So she drank and laughed and danced. She danced with men she didn't know, and sometimes men she did. She danced with Merrill and Isabela and even, once she got enough ale inside her, Aveline.

The unspoken rule for the girls' night was that none of them, no matter the temptation, would leave the group for any man or woman until the party was officially ready to break up. Of course, the only one really constrained by that rule was Isabela, but she bore up with good grace. It was hilarious to watch her flirt outrageously with some poor soul for the whole of their stay at a tavern, only to dismiss them without a backward glance when her girlfriends got up to leave. Man or woman, they always looked after Isabela with such hungry, bemused expressions that it was comical.

Merrill's wide-eyed, innocent enthusiasm was just as fun to watch. One time, she had nearly made Hawke spit out her drink with one of her forthright observations.

“The less attractive someone is, the more ale their partner drinks before they go upstairs with them. I haven't exactly got it all straight yet, but six pints seems to be the limit so far,” she had told them brightly. Then thinking about it, she continued with dismay, “I'm not sure I want to see anything that requires seven.”

Aveline naturally appointed herself the one to make sure everyone stayed out of trouble. Though she drank, and even once allowed Hawke to persuade her to dance, for the most part she kept her wits about her. More than one overly amorous or drunk male found himself staring into her flat, uncompromising green gaze. None of them seemed far gone enough to test her, fortunately for them. But she enjoyed herself and, surprisingly, enjoyed watching the others too. She wouldn't have thought that an evening spent in Isabela's company would be bearable, but she was wrong.

She actually regretted having to be the first to leave, but with guard duty in the morning, she couldn't linger when the girls finally made their way toward The Hanged Man, their last stop in their revels. She waited until the others were safely inside, then headed off to the barracks and a short night of sleep.

Losing Aveline cast a slight damper over the remaining women, but since this was their last destination anyway, no one really minded the more subdued feel. As soon as they entered the Hanged Man, they were greeted by a chorus of friends and acquaintances. Merrill especially seemed popular, and considering her card playing skills, the demands for her to join the games going on were understandable.

Varric was in the common room tonight, sharing a table with Anders and Fenris and a dark-haired man that Hawke didn't recognize. She waved to her friends, but had no hesitation in choosing a table a good distance away from them.

Thanks to Isabela's claims that morning, she paid attention to the way Anders looked at her. It was strangely gratifying to see the other mage's eyes immediately widen, do a slow sweep of her from head to toe, then return only to find her looking steadily at him. He actually blushed before he pulled his gaze sharply away. Fenris seemed to have no reaction whatsoever, and he also did not immediately drop his gaze when Hawke's touched his. And Varric, bless him, did a once-over similar to what Anders had given, then nodded approvingly at her with a smile and a wink.

“Didn't I tell you?” Isabela asked as they sat down, shaking her head. “Though I must say I like the idea of the boys watching, knowing they aren't allowed to touch. It keeps them humble.”

Merrill sat down with them, but she only perched on the edge of her chair. “Would it be wrong of me to go play and leave the girls?” she asked apprehensively. Her tilted, dark-green gaze was fixed on one of the games of Wicked Grace being played near the table they had chosen.

“Do whatever you like, Kitten,” Isabela urged her with a smile. “And don't forget to keep your movements subtle. Just like I showed you.”

Merrill gave the two of them a happy little smile before jumping up and joining the group of gamblers.

“Are you sure you should be teaching her how to cheat?”

“Are you kidding? It's pure genius! Look at that face of hers. She could steal half the city and no one would ever see it coming.”

Chuckling, Hawke had to admit that Bela had a point. She watched the game for a few minutes, sipping at the ale that had been brought to them. Merrill seemed to be doing just fine. More than one of the players already looked rueful at her apparent good fortune.

“Tonight's been fun,” Isabela said, eyes on Hawke. “It's also a complete failure.”

“What do you mean?”

“The point was to get you out and find a man to finish what you-know-who started.”

Hawke felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair and cursed her fair complexion. “Bela... I don't want anyone for that. Maker's breath! It's not as though just anyone would suffice.”

“Why not? Sure, Sebastian is gorgeous, but he's not the only man in Kirkwall who is. I know plenty of them. Your problem, sweet, is that you get too caught up in feelings. Look what it's gotten you.” She shook her head, the golden hoops in her ears catching the candlelight. “You need to learn to let go and just have a good time.”

“Wasn't I doing that tonight?”

“It's a start. But you could be having a lot more fun right this minute.” She tilted her head in the direction of Varric's table. “What about Anders?”

“No.”

“My my. Not even a maybe?”

“Bela...”

“Fiiine. What about Fenris? Those eyes. That voice. Absolutely delicious.”

“You should go tell him. Maybe you'll get lucky.”

Isabela laughed softly and gave Hawke a wink. “What makes you think I haven't?”

“Hmm...” Hawke looked at Fenris, then back to Isabela, and finally shook her head. “No. Not yet anyway. I've seen the people that you bed. They always look at you a certain way afterward. Fenris doesn't have that expression when he sees you.”

“I'm impressed, Hawke. You see more than you let on.” She drained her mug and set it down on the table, then rose to stretch sinuously. Her dark eyes stayed on Hawke's, and the mage found herself admiring the other woman's blatant, easy sexuality.

“There are a lot of things I could show you,” Isabela offered, smiling but genuine.

Hawke was surprised to find herself actually considering it. How nice would it be to spend the night with someone who wanted nothing more from her than to please and be pleased in return? Without all the self-doubt and second guessing. But in the end she shook her head.

“Very tempting, but I don't think so.”

“Oh well, can't blame a girl for trying. It must be that potion you deny using. Sweet dreams, Hawke.”

“Good night, Bela.”

She grinned as the other woman put a little extra sway into those lush hips on her way up the stairs to her room at the Hanged Man. There was no one else in the world quite like Isabela. Draining her own pint, Hawke rose to her feet and finally, without Isabela to chide her, pulled the sleeves of her blouse back up where they belonged. It wasn't a huge difference, but it made Hawke feel a little more like herself.

She considered Merrill a moment, but knew that the elf would make it back to the alienage safely. Whether she knew it or not, she had a guardian angel in the form of Varric Tethras.  Her thoughts went again to Sebastian and all the nights that he had been her own guardian angel, seeing her safely home after a night like this, spent with friends and ending late.  But there was no sense in dwelling on that, now was there?  Her good mood evaporating just that quickly, Hawke moved toward the door. But when she would have stepped out into the night, a hand on her elbow forestalled her. She turned her head and looked directly up into Fenris's disapproving eyes.

“You intend to walk home through Lowtown, alone, dressed like that.”

“Is there some other way to get to Hightown that I should know about?”

“You shouldn't walk alone at night,” he told her flatly, his deep voice grinding out the words. “I'm headed home anyway. I'll accompany you.”

She pulled her elbow from his grip, smiling at him through bared teeth. “I'll manage. Good night, Fenris.”

She left the Hanged Man and headed back toward Hightown. Only a moment after the door closed behind her, it opened again, and she knew that Fenris had followed her out of the tavern. But he kept his distance, and she didn't slow her steps to wait for him. He shadowed her all the way back to her estate. It annoyed her beyond all measure, but it was also strangely comforting.

Just before she slipped into the manor, she looked back toward where she knew the elf stood. Their eyes met in a moment of accord before she closed the door.