Dragon Age Big Bang: Return to Starkhaven| Chapter One
Title: Return to Starkhaven
Artists: msbarrows & niuniente
Word Count: 11,294
Rating: M
Warnings: Nudity, sexual content, graphic violence
Disclaimer: Dragon Age (c) Bioware & EA
Summary: On the road to Starkhaven, Sebastian and Fenris are besieged by a group of apostates intent on assassinating Fenris. After learning who was behind the attack and arriving in Starkhaven, Sebastian sees firsthand that the distrust and suspicion for his lover goes much deeper than he could have prepared for.
Notes: A million and one thanks to msbarrows and niuniente for their dedication, their time, and their beautiful, beautiful artwork. Also love and thanks to spicyshimmy for being the best beta in the world. :)
Return To Starkhaven
I: Road To Starkhaven
The road to Starkhaven was fraught with danger. Fenris would have been more comfortable walking to the city, despite the perils they might have faced, but Sebastian was adamant in taking a carriage, at least most of the way.
“Any who would dare to attack us would be fools,” Fenris had argued. His hand had clasped the hilt of his sword, his eyes flicking to Sebastian’s face. Sebastian never mentioned as much, but desire had warmed his stomach looking into Fenris’ brazen, confident eyes. “I would cut down any who made attempts on your life.”
“Romantic of you,” Sebastian murmured, touching the hand that held the hilt of the blade, “but unnecessary. I’ve plenty of bodyguards, Fenris. I want you to understand that you’re not a part of the company I take with me. You’re my...”
What word best described what Fenris was to him, what Fenris meant to him? Sebastian hadn’t known then, standing with Fenris in his mansion, and he didn’t know now, sitting in the carriage as it jounced along the road.
Friend, Sebastian thought, but that was only half-true. Yes, he considered Fenris to be his friend, his best friend, perhaps the only friend that Sebastian had ever known. More than that, Fenris was his confidant, his strength when he was weak, his compass when he was lost, his light when all around him was dark. To put those thoughts into words, to look Fenris in the eye and tell him, You are mine. I love you, was more than Sebastian was capable of.
Love had no place in the Chantry. Unless it was love for the Maker, or love for Andraste, or, last but not least, love for the institution itself. Sebastian had such love in his heart, he was used to such love: but it was not the same as the love that swelled in his breast when he looked into Fenris’ eyes. It was not the same love that caught in his throat and burned low and constant in his chest when he sat near Fenris and listened to the steady sound of his breathing.
Such love had no name, had no comparison, had no place inside of him. Yet Sebastian was powerless against it, as powerless as Fenris was to accept that he was not a servant, that Sebastian did not own him and would make no demands of him. He desired a leader, someone to follow, someone to tell him what to do, when to do it, and perhaps even how to feel. Sebastian wished to tell Fenris that he could never be owned again. He wanted to say that he would not collar Fenris with his love, as Danarius had collared with his cruelty, but again, Sebastian wasn’t capable of such words; they caught in his throat like glass.
“Thinking of home?” Fenris asked.
Sebastian grunted, which wasn’t much of a response, and shrugged. “It has been... Some time since I’ve set foot in Starkhaven. I’m worried the people there will view me as a stranger. That’s the best case scenario. Worst case, they view me as treasonous and run me out.”
“It’s not your fault your parents forced you into the Chantry.”
“No,” Sebastian said, “But it’s my fault it’s taken me this long to return home.”
Fenris was quiet for a moment. He moved from across the carriage to Sebastian’s side. Sebastian could sense his hesitation, and he admired Fenris’ ability to push through such self-doubt. Sebastian himself had never been very good at overcoming his own deficiencies.
Sebastian held his breath when Fenris leaned his head against his shoulder and wrapped an arm around Sebastian’s waist. He realized how foolish he was behaving -- like he was some untouched virgin -- but he couldn’t help himself. It had been a long, long time since someone had touched him or been close to him. Even such innocent contact made his body shiver. Maker, Sebastian thought, guide me through this, or give me the strength to put my blighted hands on him.
“Tell me about it, then,” Fenris said.
“About?”
“Starkhaven,” Fenris said. He chuckled softly. “You never talk about it.”
There were many reasons Sebastian didn’t speak of his homeland. Most prominent was because Starkhaven was not a city that required much discussion. It was large, filled with people, but unlike Kirkwall, it was extraordinarily boring. Nothing ever happened in Starkhaven. There was no secret lifeblood flowing beneath the city as there had been in Kirkwall -- Darktown and the Undercity combined -- and there was no handsome man and his band of misfits that would march through the city stopping atrocious acts and committing a few of their own.
Starkhaven was, and always had been, quite ordinary. Though Sebastian supposed the royal feuding and usurping might interest Fenris, the same way the stories of Antivan “politics” had intrigued him when that damnable Zevran had told him of them.
“There isn’t much to tell,” Sebastian said. “Starkhaven is a calm place, most of the time. My being sent to the Chantry and this scandal over who sits upon the throne is the most that has happened there for quite some time.”
You will always be merely my servant to the people, Sebastian thought. He couldn’t bring himself to say that. Sebastian felt sure that Fenris already knew that was the case, but he still should have spoken with him. He should have explained why they could never truly be together, at least not in the public eye. But whenever he tried to broach the subject, Fenris would always derail him, typically with more intimate tactics than merely redirecting the conversation.
“And I assume the people will welcome you back with open arms?” Fenris asked.
“Unlikely,” Sebastian said. “I have been gone for more than fifteen years. For most of the people of Starkhaven, I am a distant memory, if not simply a name they have heard whispered. Most will not know my face; most will not even care to know my face. Some will make attempts on my life.”
“Well... let them try,” Fenris said. He brushed his nose against Sebastian’s jaw, near that sensitive bit of flesh that made Sebastian’s toes curl. The prince chuckled and shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t that he disliked Fenris’ amorous advances, it was merely that he was unaccustomed to dealing with such things. After spending so many years in the Chantry, with nothing more affectionate than a handshake or a kind word, Sebastian had forgotten how wonderful a kiss or the nuzzle of a nose or even a warm hand at the back of his neck could feel.
“You are not my bodyguard,” Sebastian reminded him. “You’ll have to remember that, Fenris.”
“I know it well,” Fenris said. His breath was there, warm and damp at the curve of Sebastian’s jaw. Sebastian swallowed roughly, not even realizing that his hand had strayed to Fenris’ knee and was gently massaging. “I also know that I intend to protect you,” Fenris continued. “I... wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”
No, that wasn’t at all what Fenris intended to say. Sebastian heard the rawness of his voice and he knew that Fenris was battling against an urge to tear his heart open. How close had Fenris come to revealing himself? How close had he come to being vulnerable?
“Fenris,” Sebastian said. His voice was soft, his lips softer as he turned and pressed them to Fenris’ brow.
Fenris tilted his face up, eyes closing expectantly. Sebastian didn’t admire his beauty the way others did. Elves had always been considered a gorgeous, though inferior, race; when anyone else saw Fenris, they saw simply another elf -- delicately pretty with high cheekbones and dark green eyes and a fall of white, silky hair. When Sebastian looked at Fenris, he saw a lifetime of pain and torment. He saw what Fenris had endured, what he had done, what he had tried, what he had failed. He saw every last regret and triumph carved into Fenris’ face.
Yes, Fenris was beautiful. But sometimes Sebastian couldn’t look at him. It hurt his heart to look at him and know that the Maker could be so cruel. Everything happened for a reason, or so Sebastian had been told. He wanted to believe that -- that there was a purpose for all of the pain and suffering in the world. He wanted to believe that there was a reason Fenris had been abused and mistreated and collared like a dog.
Yet, sometimes, when Sebastian looked into Fenris’ eyes and let himself fall into them, he knew that there was no reason good enough.
“Fenris,” Sebastian repeated, moving his face closer. His breath touched Fenris’ lips, his hand shifting to curl at the nape of Fenris’ neck. Just a few short inches, centimeters really, and he’d be kissing him. They had shared kisses before, quick and chaste thanks to Sebastian’s rigid upbringing, but he could feel that this kiss would be different. This kiss would be deep and wet; all tongue and teeth and panted breath. It would last forever, but it would be too achingly short.
Sebastian closed his eyes.
The carriage jostled, knocking him forward. Instead of the kiss he had wanted and the kiss Fenris had been waiting for, he succeeded only in knocking their foreheads together. He might have tried again if not for the shouts of his men outside, and the continued violent rocking of their carriage.
“Are you alright?” Sebastian asked.
“Fine,” Fenris said, rubbing his forehead. “What happened?”
“We must have struck something, or else we’ve thrown a wheel.” Sebastian sighed, pressing the kiss he had intended for Fenris’ lips on his forehead instead. He had a knot forming, just above his right eyebrow; Sebastian kissed it tenderly. “I hope we haven’t. We are still nearly a week’s journey from Starkhaven, and that’s by carriage. I’d hate to have to walk.”
“I would prefer it,” Fenris said. “Being cooped up like this does me no good. I might be nothing more than a mongrel dog to the Dalish, but I still share their love for nature.” Fenris smiled, still caressing the knot on his forehead. “I just don’t share their insufferability.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sebastian said with a chuckle. “Maybe a bit.”
Before Fenris could form a proper rebuttal, Sebastian opened the door and leaned out, looking towards the front of the carriage. “What happened?” Sebastian asked. “Have we hit something?”
“Not sure,” a man called back. “I’ve sent a few of the men back to check.”
“And the carriage?” Sebastian asked. He knew already, however. One quick look showed him that the carriage was in fine condition. No wheel had been thrown, and judging by their spotlessness, they hadn’t run over anything that bled. At least there was that.
“Fine, Your Highness,” the man replied.
There was a tug on the back of Sebastian’s tunic, and he ducked back inside.
“Everything is fine?” Fenris asked.
“Yes, we probably ran over a rock or a ditch, nothing to worry about.”
“Then where were we?” Fenris murmured, lacing his arms around Sebastian’s neck and brushing his nose against Sebastian’s cheek. The prince could honestly say no one had ever made him feel the way Fenris did. Just one little look, or one nuzzle, and he was warm down to his bones.
Sebastian closed his eyes, again, and leaned in to kiss Fenris.
There was a knock at the carriage door.
“Maker’s breath, you cannot be serious,” Sebastian growled.
Fenris sighed, reaching past Sebastian and throwing the door open. The small group of men gathered outside were at first startled by the door being thrust open in their faces, but when they saw the two men inside twined around each other, they shuffled their feet and looked down at the ground.
“What is it?” Fenris demanded.
“Ah, well, we... That is, uh, there is nothing wrong with the carriage, so we will be continuing on now. Ser.”
“Good men,” Sebastian said. “Thank you.”
He closed the door and looked at Fenris with his brow darkening. “I will have to teach you how to deal with people in a much more delicate manner.”
“I know about being delicate,” Fenris murmured, pulling Sebastian close and pressing his body against him. “I just need the right person in my arms.”
Before some other interruption could stop him, Sebastian kissed Fenris firmly. Yes, the elf could be delicate when he wanted to be; his tongue was soft and gentle in Sebastian’s mouth.
***
Starkhaven had the strongest military in the entire Free Marches, but they had sent only a handful of soldiers to guide their Prince to the city. Fenris called it idiotic and fumed about it, but Sebastian shrugged it off. It had been fifteen years since he had seen Starkhaven, and he had never been important to the people there even when he lived in the city.
They had sent his parents’ most faithful servant, Milo, to lead them. Sebastian remembered the man from his youth. Milo had been the one to get him out of trouble before his parents could be made aware. He had lectured and twisted Sebastian’s ear, but overall he had been a pleasant man. Sebastian recalled being told that Milo had known his grandfather in their younger years, though he had never asked the man if the stories were true.
Milo wasn’t fond of Fenris or the fact that Sebastian meant to keep him within the palace. His eyes would darken and his mouth would twist whenever Sebastian mentioned Fenris’ new home, or whenever Fenris himself spoke more than a handful of words.
It was Milo who shouted from the front of the envoy as they descended the Vimmark Pass. There was a moment of confusion -- Sebastian couldn’t be expected to react quickly with quite a bit of elf on his lap -- before a loud explosion thundered from outside.
Fenris was outside first with his sword drawn. Well naturally, he hadn’t been pinned under someone’s muscular thighs.
Sebastian followed after him. The first thing he noticed was how hot and muggy it was now that they had cleared the mountains; the second was that fifty yards ahead of them the ground was on fire. He should have noticed the latter first, but he couldn’t be expected to think properly with his blood beating like drums through him and his mind clouded.
They ran toward the flames, Fenris with his head down and his sword held away from his body. He was fast, too fast for Sebastian to keep up with. “Wait!” Sebastian called, and Fenris stopped, looking back at him as though he’d lost his mind.
“There will be injured,” Fenris said, “perhaps even dead, and you wish for me to wait.”
“I would not have your body be added to the count,” Sebastian snapped, gripping Fenris’ shoulder. “For the love of Andraste, take a moment and think.”
“I do not see anything to think about,” Fenris growled, jerking away from Sebastian’s touch. “Someone has attacked us, and I will show them what happens when they dare to lay a finger on you. Tend to your men, Sebastian. Let me handle this.”
“You don’t even know how many of them there are,” Sebastian said. “You don’t even know who they are or what they want---”
“None of that matters!” Fenris shouted. His voice echoed through the valley, startling birds into the sky. Sebastian looked at him, unblinking. “What matters is they are mages. They have come for you and I will die before I will let them touch you.”
Fenris would hear no more on the matter. He strode into the smoke, eyes stinging and throat itching. Sebastian wasn’t sure what to do, if he should follow after him or head back to the wagon. Fenris was right: the mages had made an attempt on his life, and they wouldn’t stop until they succeeded or Fenris killed them. Going into that smoke would be presenting himself as a lamb to the slaughter.
Nevertheless, Sebastian followed after Fenris, coughing and pulling his cloak up over his mouth. He could see nothing beyond the tip of his nose in the thick veil of smoke. He tried to call for Fenris and breathed in the smoke. He sputtered and jerked his cloak back up to shield his mouth and nose.
“Sebastian!” Fenris shouted. “Get out of here! Go, go!”
Where would he go? Sebastian couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe, and he wasn’t sure which way he had entered from or which way he had stumbled. Fenris found him in the smoke, his hand closing around Sebastian’s elbow. He pulled him away from the smoke, away from the broken bodies of his men and the assailants that lay in wait for him.
They collapsed into the fresh air, taking deep, gulping lungfuls of it. Sebastian fell onto his knees, eyes and throat clogged and burning, skin slick with sweat. Fenris seemed less affected by the thick smoke than his lover, standing with the hilt of his sword gripped tightly.
“We need to move,” Fenris said. “Now, Sebastian. There are far too many of them. We need to press towards the East. Wildervale will welcome us, at least for a short time.”
“My men,” Sebastian gasped, “I have to get to my men.”
“They’re all dead,” Fenris said absently. He seemed undisturbed by the knowledge, while Sebastian felt the last of his breath brutally knocked out of him.
“Dead,” Sebastian whispered. He pulled up the earth in his hands, feeling it under his nails. “No, that... that cannot be...”
“We need to move,” Fenris repeated, grabbing Sebastian’s shoulder. “They will be upon us soon, and I can do little against them.” That seemed to pain Fenris more than the admission that all of Sebastian’s men had been felled: that he was so worthless against a handful of apostates.
Sebastian allowed Fenris to haul him up from the ground and slip an arm around his waist. He didn’t need the support, but he accepted it gratefully. He was too numb to feel his feet on the ground and too bereaved to feel the sweet air filling his lungs. The men who had accompanied him were trusted allies and old friends. He recalled Milo, the man who had stood with his grandfather many moons before he had been born, and the first touch of grief settled like a cold shadow on his heart.
“They will... need to be attended to,” Sebastian murmured. “Their families... They will need to be told that they have fallen.”
“We will see to them when we are safe,” Fenris said. He tightened his hold around Sebastian’s waist. “I’m sorry, Sebastian. I wish I could have done something to protect them.”
“No, I... I should never have taken such a large company,” Sebastian said. “I should never have put them in such peril.”
“Sebastian---”
Fenris was interrupted by a scream -- not of pain but of rage -- from behind them. He released Sebastian and turned, spotting the blood mage fifty yards back from where they stood. He rushed towards her, giving his own cry of fury as he fell on top of her. They tumbled to the ground, writhing and twisting. Fenris’ brands flashed brightly in the darkness, illuminating their fighting forms. Sebastian wanted to shout for him, to tell him to stop, or to be careful, or to rip the bitch’s heart out of her chest for what she and her apostate brethren had done to his men, but he stood there still and quiet.
“You will not touch him,” Fenris growled at the woman, pinning her wrists above her head. “You will not lay your hands on him while my blood still flows.”
The woman smiled. “I suppose I know what needs to be done, then.”
Fenris took a chance and let one of her hands go free. He reached down and plunged his hand into the woman’s chest, watching her face tremble from satisfied glee to excruciating pain. She tried to scream but nothing came out but a choked gurgle.
“You will be a message to the others,” Fenris whispered, closing his hand around her heart. “I will kill any who dare to hurt him.”
He crushed her heart in his fist, the scream that finally escaped her cut off brutally.
“Fenris,” Sebastian said. He rested his hand on the back of Fenris’ neck, not sure when he had moved closer to the man.
“We need to move,” Fenris said, resting his face briefly against Sebastian’s stomach. “Now.”
****
They set up a meager camp a few miles from where their envoy had been attacked. Sebastian was quiet and morose and didn’t respond to even the gentlest of prodding. Fenris decided to let him be, gathering firewood and stoking the flames while Sebastian sat on a firmly rooted log and stared into the night with his cloak bundled up around his face.
Fire would alert the mages to their presence, but it was a cold night and they couldn’t go without it.
“Wildervale is still a day’s journey from here,” Fenris said.
Sebastian grunted in response.
“If we rest here for a few hours, we can continue on. I am sure we can find a new carriage there, or at least send word to Starkhaven.”
Sebastian removed his pouch from his hip. “I have coin,” he said. “Not much, however I feel it will be unnecessary.”
“Coin is never unnecessary,” Fenris said.
Sebastian removed his cloak and moved to slip out of his tunic. Fenris fussed about how he was sure to catch cold, but he didn’t fight as strongly as he could have. Truth be told, he had rarely seen Sebastian’s flesh, and he wanted to enjoy the experience. Fenris found it strange that after all of their time together he and Sebastian had never seen one another’s bodies, or let trembling fingertips explore places long denied them.
If Sebastian wished to change that -- regardless of their being hunted -- Fenris would welcome it. He ached for the man, something that he would never admit and Sebastian would never ask.
“I bear the seal of Starkhaven,” Sebastian said. He touched the tattoo on his chest, just over his heart; circular and blood red. “Only the Vaels bear such a mark. I may request aid from any stop along the Imperial Highway, regardless of their personal feelings on the matter.”
“Starkhaven is so deeply respected?” Fenris asked. He reached out and traced his fingers over the tattoo, smiling when Sebastian’s breath caught -- slightly, but it made Fenris’ skin tingle.
“No,” Sebastian said, “Starkhaven is feared. We are the largest city in the Free Marches, with the largest military and the most skilled soldiers. Those who oppose us, or refuse us aid, are seen as enemies.”
Fenris remembered Sebastian’s vow that he would bring the full might of Starkhaven to Kirkwall if Hawke refused to punish Anders for his crimes. That night Fenris had seen just what lurked under Sebastian’s peaceful and pious surface. He was every bit the animal that Fenris was; Sebastian was only more skilled at hiding his bestial nature, at never letting his desire for blood and penance be what spurred his intent.
Fenris desired Sebastian, that night and every night after. If such a man could exist beyond the realm of dreams, Fenris had never met one before Sebastian had entered his life. Warm, gentle, affectionate, sophisticated -- but with a depth of anger and a thirst for justice Fenris had never seen before, beyond Anders’ maniacal craving for it.
His thumb brushed over Sebastian’s nipple. A strange place for his thumb to be, seeing as Sebastian’s tattoo ended a few inches above it.
“Fenris,” Sebastian whispered.
“Mm? Oh... I’m sorry, Sebastian. I thought---”
Sebastian took his hand and pulled it to his mouth, pressing a warm, slightly damp kiss against Fenris’ palm. “You must think that I am a horrible tease,” Sebastian said against Fenris’ ticklish skin. “You must think that I lead you on, only to fall short of actually--- I’m sorry, Fenris. I never meant to make you feel... to make you think that I do not want you, when I want you so badly it hurts me.”
“Have me,” Fenris whispered, voice low and breathless. “I’m yours, Sebastian.”
He understood that the death of his men weighed heavily on Sebastian’s heart. The man was too tender for his own good -- a quality that Fenris both lamented and loved about him. If Fenris could be a balm for him, even just for a handful of minutes in the quiet dark, he would do so gladly. Anything to cleanse the sorrow and pain from Sebastian’s blue eyes.
“I have never felt... The way that I... When I look at you.” Sebastian struggled. “Fenris, I---”
Fenris leaned close to Sebastian, brushing his lips against the corner of his mouth. “I know, Sebastian,” he whispered. “Take me. Have me. Please, I... I need you.”
Sebastian’s hand curled under Fenris’ jaw before slipping to the back of his neck. His breath was there, hot and moist against Fenris’ lips. Fenris closed his eyes, moving into the kiss gratefully, with a small sigh slipping between Sebastian’s lips. It could have been awkward -- should have been based on how long they had been waiting and how desperate they both were -- but it was as natural as breathing.
They melted together, bodies pressed tight and skin burning with want. Sebastian undressed Fenris slowly, his hands unsteady. He laughed -- hectic and flustered -- and apologized in a whisper Fenris never heard. Fenris needed no apology; what he needed was Sebastian’s hands on him, his mouth against his throat, his muscles tight and bunching under his nails.
His tattoo was kissed, softly, and then his nipple. Sebastian’s breath caught, his fingers tangling in Fenris’ hair. His back arched, pressing his nipple tighter against Fenris’ tongue. Fenris’ teeth clamped over Sebastian’s hardened flesh, his hand wandering low on Sebastian’s stomach, nudging under the waistband of his trousers.
“Fenris,” Sebastian panted, tugging hard on Fenris’ hair. “Yes.”
For years, Fenris had been waiting for that voice to sound so breathless and those fingers to knot in his hair; he had been waiting for that skin in his mouth and Sebastian’s erection pulsing in his hand. He had everything he had ever desired -- a person that was more precious to him than freedom. Fenris pressed his face against Sebastian’s throat, stroking him slowly and roughly.
“I need you,” Fenris breathed. “Please.”
Sebastian kissed Fenris’ forehead and traced his nails down the elf’s back. There were a thousand words in his heart and climbing up his throat, but they never reached his lips. What could he have said in that moment to let Fenris know how desperately he was needed? There was not a word in his language or in Fenris’ that could ever come close. Sebastian let his body do the talking; he let their bodies come together with a secret language all their own.
When he was inside of Fenris, Sebastian couldn’t believe how long he had waited, how he had lived before. His muscles trembled, his stomach tightened, his skin flushed under brown hands. Sebastian felt sure he would die from the pleasure; so much warmth and love and ecstasy were not for one mortal man to possess. The Maker would surely strike him down, and if so, Sebastian would go happily.
They moved together as the tides, strong and slow. Like the tides, they were calm on the surface, with only heavy breathing and sweaty skin to mark their passion. Inside, underneath, they were tumultuous, hearts beating too fast, heat too powerful in their stomachs and groins, limbs tingling from holding on too tight because they were too afraid to let go.
Take him from me when my hands are dead and cold, Fenris thought, tilting his head back and feeling Sebastian’s teeth and tongue on his throat. Not a moment before.
Years of waiting and wanting and needing shortened the experience, though the euphoria it produced was long lasting. When it was over and they lay together in the grass with the sky as their blanket, Fenris whispered something against Sebastian’s ear.
“I know,” Sebastian said, running his fingers across Fenris’ brand and down to his hip. “I love you too.”
****
It had been too long since Sebastian had woken up with someone in his arms. The Chantry had taught him that such base desires were sinful and an affront to the Maker, though Sebastian wondered how such warm brown skin under his hands could be so terrible.
Fenris still slept when Sebastian awoke, and he maneuvered himself out of the tangle of Fenris’ arms and legs. They would have to leave soon if they would make Wildervale before their pursuers found them, but it couldn’t hurt to let Fenris get a few more minutes of much-needed rest.
How silly of him -- Sebastian regretted leaving Fenris even for a few moments. Already he missed the feel of his skin and his breath slow and steady against his chest. Sebastian chuckled at his foolish romanticism as he dressed. His cloak was thrown over Fenris to shield him from the chill, for whatever good the thin fabric was worth.
Sebastian looked at the fire, nothing but smoldering embers now, and sighed. He was no woodsman; in fact, he could count on one hand -- using only two of his fingers -- the number of times he had been forced to chop wood. Still, more firewood was needed and, judging by the loud grumbling from his stomach, so was dinner. Sebastian grabbed his bow and the hatchet Fenris had used to chop the wood and moved deeper into the trees.
He had never been fond of hunting no matter how proficient he was with the bow. His grandfather had laughed at him, though gently, and explained to him that if he couldn’t handle shooting down a buck for dinner he would never be any good at warfare.
Even after so many years, Sebastian was inclined to agree with him. No matter what wrathful promises he had made Hawke when he had left Kirkwall, he couldn’t see himself returning with an army. No matter how badly he wished to punish Anders for his crimes and Hawke for his assistance, Sebastian’s heart was too soft for such things. He thought of Elthina, with her patient voice and loving eyes and tender hands trying to guide him; he thought of her telling him, Death is never justice, and his eyes burned and his throat tightened.
Absorbed in his own thoughts, Sebastian never saw the doe that darted past him on the right. He heard her hooves beating on the ground and turned, too late to do more than draw up his bow before the deer was over the hillside and lost in the trees and fog.
Well, a huntsman he was not, but perhaps he had developed some special woodcutting ability during his years of Chantry life. Unlikely, but Sebastian held out hope.
He bent down to examine the wood; this far south the wood was all black and gnarled, but it would burn, as all things did. Sebastian wanted the right angle for his first swing, but it missed the wood by a half inch and buried itself in the ground. Sebastian swore under his breath and yanked on the haft, but the damn thing was imbedded in the soil.
That was when he heard the snapping of twigs behind him. At first he wasn’t too alarmed -- most likely the doe had come back or some other creature was trying to get a closer look at the interloper in their woods. And then there was a cough, ragged and wet. Sebastian knew very little about animals, but he was quite sure they didn’t tend to cough.
“Don’t turn around,” the person behind him whispered.
“Milo?” Sebastian asked. He moved to look over his shoulder and Milo’s voice raised to a shout.
“Do not look at me!” Milo ordered. Sebastian heard the shink of metal sliding against its sheath. Milo had drawn his sword. Sebastian’s blood flooded with adrenaline and he gripped the haft of the hatchet tighter, keeping his breathing normal.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Milo said, “Maker knows I don’t, Sebastian. I love you like my own. That boy of yours... He’s the one I want blood from.”
“Fenris,” Sebastian whispered. His adrenaline fled, leaving him cold and trembling. He swallowed, trying to find his voice, but managed nothing more than a shaky whine.
“He has no right to be at your side,” Milo said. “He has no right to be in Starkhaven. I will rid you of him, and then everything will be as it should. You will take the throne, you will take a wife, and Starkhaven will once more be the jewel of the Free Marches. That boy would see her stained. To think of an elf in your bed...” Milo spat and took a few steps closer to Sebastian. The tip of his sword nudged Sebastian’s shoulder, sliding up to press against the side of his neck.
“You hired the mages,” Sebastian said. “You did all of this to be rid of Fenris? There is no reason to do this. He has been good to me. He loves me.”
“Loves you,” Milo mocked, chuckling meanly. “You’re too naive, Sebastian. Your grandfather would be ashamed to see you in such a state, all tangled up with some treacherous elf boy.”
Sebastian couldn’t hesitate; if he did, Fenris would be dead. He turned and buried the hatchet into Milo’s thigh, his scream of anger and fear mingling with Milo’s screech of pain.
The sword slipped out of his hand and tumbled to the ground. Sebastian yanked the hatchet free, feeling bile rise up in his throat when he saw the terrible wound. It was a deep gash, deep enough for Sebastian to see the white gleam of Milo’s bone through the strong flow of blood.
Milo made a strangled, gargled noise, scrabbling at Sebastian’s face with his nails. He scratched Sebastian’s cheek, and jabbed his finger at his eye. Sebastian growled and swung the hatchet again, in a rough arc. The blade landed in Milo’s chest; Sebastian looked into his eyes those short moments before he died. He saw shock and excruciating pain in his rheumy eyes, but no regret, no apology, no fatherly love that had marked his and Sebastian’s lives together.
Sebastian yanked the hatchet free and turned his face as Milo staggered back and hit the ground. He waited a few minutes, shaking and crying and struggling against an overwhelming urge to vomit.
When he finally opened his eyes, everything was over. Milo was dead, his body lying motionless in the thick grass, his lifeless eyes staring up at the brightening sky.
With every bit of strength Sebastian had, he dragged the man’s body deeper into the trees, leaving him to the wolves. He spoke a short prayer, but with very little emotion. The Maker would guide him or he would not -- Sebastian had no more care to offer him.
He was too numb to think on what had happened, or to wonder what had driven Milo to such desperate means. All Sebastian could do was drag himself to the small brook by their camp and carefully wash Milo blood from his skin and clothes.
When he finally returned to Fenris the sky was bright and Fenris was dressed and waiting for him.
“Where were you?” Fenris asked.
“I thought... I might try to catch us something for breakfast, but I’m afraid my aim was a little off.”
Fenris touched the scratch on Sebastian’s cheek, looking up at him with a mixture of worry and concern. “How did you get this?”
“Oh, that’s... nothing,” Sebastian said, “I must have gotten it from a branch. These damned woods... I just... don’t know what I’m doing.”
Something caught in his throat. Tears, terror, rage, he wasn’t sure. He looked away from Fenris to keep him from seeing whatever horrible truth was in his eyes.
“Sebastian,” Fenris whispered, “are you---”
“Fine,” Sebastian said, perhaps too harshly. He looked back to Fenris, into his eyes. “I’m fine,” he repeated, gentler, stroking Fenris’ shoulders. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the end of Fenris’ nose. “Just anxious to be gone from these blighted woods,” he said. “Anxious to be home and to have you there with me.”
Fenris smiled, catching Sebastian’s lips in a short kiss when he moved to pull away. “Let us be gone, then,” he said.
Artists: msbarrows & niuniente
Word Count: 11,294
Rating: M
Warnings: Nudity, sexual content, graphic violence
Disclaimer: Dragon Age (c) Bioware & EA
Summary: On the road to Starkhaven, Sebastian and Fenris are besieged by a group of apostates intent on assassinating Fenris. After learning who was behind the attack and arriving in Starkhaven, Sebastian sees firsthand that the distrust and suspicion for his lover goes much deeper than he could have prepared for.
Notes: A million and one thanks to msbarrows and niuniente for their dedication, their time, and their beautiful, beautiful artwork. Also love and thanks to spicyshimmy for being the best beta in the world. :)
Return To Starkhaven
I: Road To Starkhaven
The road to Starkhaven was fraught with danger. Fenris would have been more comfortable walking to the city, despite the perils they might have faced, but Sebastian was adamant in taking a carriage, at least most of the way.
“Any who would dare to attack us would be fools,” Fenris had argued. His hand had clasped the hilt of his sword, his eyes flicking to Sebastian’s face. Sebastian never mentioned as much, but desire had warmed his stomach looking into Fenris’ brazen, confident eyes. “I would cut down any who made attempts on your life.”
“Romantic of you,” Sebastian murmured, touching the hand that held the hilt of the blade, “but unnecessary. I’ve plenty of bodyguards, Fenris. I want you to understand that you’re not a part of the company I take with me. You’re my...”
What word best described what Fenris was to him, what Fenris meant to him? Sebastian hadn’t known then, standing with Fenris in his mansion, and he didn’t know now, sitting in the carriage as it jounced along the road.
Friend, Sebastian thought, but that was only half-true. Yes, he considered Fenris to be his friend, his best friend, perhaps the only friend that Sebastian had ever known. More than that, Fenris was his confidant, his strength when he was weak, his compass when he was lost, his light when all around him was dark. To put those thoughts into words, to look Fenris in the eye and tell him, You are mine. I love you, was more than Sebastian was capable of.
Love had no place in the Chantry. Unless it was love for the Maker, or love for Andraste, or, last but not least, love for the institution itself. Sebastian had such love in his heart, he was used to such love: but it was not the same as the love that swelled in his breast when he looked into Fenris’ eyes. It was not the same love that caught in his throat and burned low and constant in his chest when he sat near Fenris and listened to the steady sound of his breathing.
Such love had no name, had no comparison, had no place inside of him. Yet Sebastian was powerless against it, as powerless as Fenris was to accept that he was not a servant, that Sebastian did not own him and would make no demands of him. He desired a leader, someone to follow, someone to tell him what to do, when to do it, and perhaps even how to feel. Sebastian wished to tell Fenris that he could never be owned again. He wanted to say that he would not collar Fenris with his love, as Danarius had collared with his cruelty, but again, Sebastian wasn’t capable of such words; they caught in his throat like glass.
“Thinking of home?” Fenris asked.
Sebastian grunted, which wasn’t much of a response, and shrugged. “It has been... Some time since I’ve set foot in Starkhaven. I’m worried the people there will view me as a stranger. That’s the best case scenario. Worst case, they view me as treasonous and run me out.”
“It’s not your fault your parents forced you into the Chantry.”
“No,” Sebastian said, “But it’s my fault it’s taken me this long to return home.”
Fenris was quiet for a moment. He moved from across the carriage to Sebastian’s side. Sebastian could sense his hesitation, and he admired Fenris’ ability to push through such self-doubt. Sebastian himself had never been very good at overcoming his own deficiencies.
Sebastian held his breath when Fenris leaned his head against his shoulder and wrapped an arm around Sebastian’s waist. He realized how foolish he was behaving -- like he was some untouched virgin -- but he couldn’t help himself. It had been a long, long time since someone had touched him or been close to him. Even such innocent contact made his body shiver. Maker, Sebastian thought, guide me through this, or give me the strength to put my blighted hands on him.
“Tell me about it, then,” Fenris said.
“About?”
“Starkhaven,” Fenris said. He chuckled softly. “You never talk about it.”
There were many reasons Sebastian didn’t speak of his homeland. Most prominent was because Starkhaven was not a city that required much discussion. It was large, filled with people, but unlike Kirkwall, it was extraordinarily boring. Nothing ever happened in Starkhaven. There was no secret lifeblood flowing beneath the city as there had been in Kirkwall -- Darktown and the Undercity combined -- and there was no handsome man and his band of misfits that would march through the city stopping atrocious acts and committing a few of their own.
Starkhaven was, and always had been, quite ordinary. Though Sebastian supposed the royal feuding and usurping might interest Fenris, the same way the stories of Antivan “politics” had intrigued him when that damnable Zevran had told him of them.
“There isn’t much to tell,” Sebastian said. “Starkhaven is a calm place, most of the time. My being sent to the Chantry and this scandal over who sits upon the throne is the most that has happened there for quite some time.”
You will always be merely my servant to the people, Sebastian thought. He couldn’t bring himself to say that. Sebastian felt sure that Fenris already knew that was the case, but he still should have spoken with him. He should have explained why they could never truly be together, at least not in the public eye. But whenever he tried to broach the subject, Fenris would always derail him, typically with more intimate tactics than merely redirecting the conversation.
“And I assume the people will welcome you back with open arms?” Fenris asked.
“Unlikely,” Sebastian said. “I have been gone for more than fifteen years. For most of the people of Starkhaven, I am a distant memory, if not simply a name they have heard whispered. Most will not know my face; most will not even care to know my face. Some will make attempts on my life.”
“Well... let them try,” Fenris said. He brushed his nose against Sebastian’s jaw, near that sensitive bit of flesh that made Sebastian’s toes curl. The prince chuckled and shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t that he disliked Fenris’ amorous advances, it was merely that he was unaccustomed to dealing with such things. After spending so many years in the Chantry, with nothing more affectionate than a handshake or a kind word, Sebastian had forgotten how wonderful a kiss or the nuzzle of a nose or even a warm hand at the back of his neck could feel.
“You are not my bodyguard,” Sebastian reminded him. “You’ll have to remember that, Fenris.”
“I know it well,” Fenris said. His breath was there, warm and damp at the curve of Sebastian’s jaw. Sebastian swallowed roughly, not even realizing that his hand had strayed to Fenris’ knee and was gently massaging. “I also know that I intend to protect you,” Fenris continued. “I... wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”
No, that wasn’t at all what Fenris intended to say. Sebastian heard the rawness of his voice and he knew that Fenris was battling against an urge to tear his heart open. How close had Fenris come to revealing himself? How close had he come to being vulnerable?
“Fenris,” Sebastian said. His voice was soft, his lips softer as he turned and pressed them to Fenris’ brow.
Fenris tilted his face up, eyes closing expectantly. Sebastian didn’t admire his beauty the way others did. Elves had always been considered a gorgeous, though inferior, race; when anyone else saw Fenris, they saw simply another elf -- delicately pretty with high cheekbones and dark green eyes and a fall of white, silky hair. When Sebastian looked at Fenris, he saw a lifetime of pain and torment. He saw what Fenris had endured, what he had done, what he had tried, what he had failed. He saw every last regret and triumph carved into Fenris’ face.
Yes, Fenris was beautiful. But sometimes Sebastian couldn’t look at him. It hurt his heart to look at him and know that the Maker could be so cruel. Everything happened for a reason, or so Sebastian had been told. He wanted to believe that -- that there was a purpose for all of the pain and suffering in the world. He wanted to believe that there was a reason Fenris had been abused and mistreated and collared like a dog.
Yet, sometimes, when Sebastian looked into Fenris’ eyes and let himself fall into them, he knew that there was no reason good enough.
“Fenris,” Sebastian repeated, moving his face closer. His breath touched Fenris’ lips, his hand shifting to curl at the nape of Fenris’ neck. Just a few short inches, centimeters really, and he’d be kissing him. They had shared kisses before, quick and chaste thanks to Sebastian’s rigid upbringing, but he could feel that this kiss would be different. This kiss would be deep and wet; all tongue and teeth and panted breath. It would last forever, but it would be too achingly short.
Sebastian closed his eyes.
The carriage jostled, knocking him forward. Instead of the kiss he had wanted and the kiss Fenris had been waiting for, he succeeded only in knocking their foreheads together. He might have tried again if not for the shouts of his men outside, and the continued violent rocking of their carriage.
“Are you alright?” Sebastian asked.
“Fine,” Fenris said, rubbing his forehead. “What happened?”
“We must have struck something, or else we’ve thrown a wheel.” Sebastian sighed, pressing the kiss he had intended for Fenris’ lips on his forehead instead. He had a knot forming, just above his right eyebrow; Sebastian kissed it tenderly. “I hope we haven’t. We are still nearly a week’s journey from Starkhaven, and that’s by carriage. I’d hate to have to walk.”
“I would prefer it,” Fenris said. “Being cooped up like this does me no good. I might be nothing more than a mongrel dog to the Dalish, but I still share their love for nature.” Fenris smiled, still caressing the knot on his forehead. “I just don’t share their insufferability.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sebastian said with a chuckle. “Maybe a bit.”
Before Fenris could form a proper rebuttal, Sebastian opened the door and leaned out, looking towards the front of the carriage. “What happened?” Sebastian asked. “Have we hit something?”
“Not sure,” a man called back. “I’ve sent a few of the men back to check.”
“And the carriage?” Sebastian asked. He knew already, however. One quick look showed him that the carriage was in fine condition. No wheel had been thrown, and judging by their spotlessness, they hadn’t run over anything that bled. At least there was that.
“Fine, Your Highness,” the man replied.
There was a tug on the back of Sebastian’s tunic, and he ducked back inside.
“Everything is fine?” Fenris asked.
“Yes, we probably ran over a rock or a ditch, nothing to worry about.”
“Then where were we?” Fenris murmured, lacing his arms around Sebastian’s neck and brushing his nose against Sebastian’s cheek. The prince could honestly say no one had ever made him feel the way Fenris did. Just one little look, or one nuzzle, and he was warm down to his bones.
Sebastian closed his eyes, again, and leaned in to kiss Fenris.
There was a knock at the carriage door.
“Maker’s breath, you cannot be serious,” Sebastian growled.
Fenris sighed, reaching past Sebastian and throwing the door open. The small group of men gathered outside were at first startled by the door being thrust open in their faces, but when they saw the two men inside twined around each other, they shuffled their feet and looked down at the ground.
“What is it?” Fenris demanded.
“Ah, well, we... That is, uh, there is nothing wrong with the carriage, so we will be continuing on now. Ser.”
“Good men,” Sebastian said. “Thank you.”
He closed the door and looked at Fenris with his brow darkening. “I will have to teach you how to deal with people in a much more delicate manner.”
“I know about being delicate,” Fenris murmured, pulling Sebastian close and pressing his body against him. “I just need the right person in my arms.”
Before some other interruption could stop him, Sebastian kissed Fenris firmly. Yes, the elf could be delicate when he wanted to be; his tongue was soft and gentle in Sebastian’s mouth.
***
Starkhaven had the strongest military in the entire Free Marches, but they had sent only a handful of soldiers to guide their Prince to the city. Fenris called it idiotic and fumed about it, but Sebastian shrugged it off. It had been fifteen years since he had seen Starkhaven, and he had never been important to the people there even when he lived in the city.
They had sent his parents’ most faithful servant, Milo, to lead them. Sebastian remembered the man from his youth. Milo had been the one to get him out of trouble before his parents could be made aware. He had lectured and twisted Sebastian’s ear, but overall he had been a pleasant man. Sebastian recalled being told that Milo had known his grandfather in their younger years, though he had never asked the man if the stories were true.
Milo wasn’t fond of Fenris or the fact that Sebastian meant to keep him within the palace. His eyes would darken and his mouth would twist whenever Sebastian mentioned Fenris’ new home, or whenever Fenris himself spoke more than a handful of words.
It was Milo who shouted from the front of the envoy as they descended the Vimmark Pass. There was a moment of confusion -- Sebastian couldn’t be expected to react quickly with quite a bit of elf on his lap -- before a loud explosion thundered from outside.
Fenris was outside first with his sword drawn. Well naturally, he hadn’t been pinned under someone’s muscular thighs.
Sebastian followed after him. The first thing he noticed was how hot and muggy it was now that they had cleared the mountains; the second was that fifty yards ahead of them the ground was on fire. He should have noticed the latter first, but he couldn’t be expected to think properly with his blood beating like drums through him and his mind clouded.
They ran toward the flames, Fenris with his head down and his sword held away from his body. He was fast, too fast for Sebastian to keep up with. “Wait!” Sebastian called, and Fenris stopped, looking back at him as though he’d lost his mind.
“There will be injured,” Fenris said, “perhaps even dead, and you wish for me to wait.”
“I would not have your body be added to the count,” Sebastian snapped, gripping Fenris’ shoulder. “For the love of Andraste, take a moment and think.”
“I do not see anything to think about,” Fenris growled, jerking away from Sebastian’s touch. “Someone has attacked us, and I will show them what happens when they dare to lay a finger on you. Tend to your men, Sebastian. Let me handle this.”
“You don’t even know how many of them there are,” Sebastian said. “You don’t even know who they are or what they want---”
“None of that matters!” Fenris shouted. His voice echoed through the valley, startling birds into the sky. Sebastian looked at him, unblinking. “What matters is they are mages. They have come for you and I will die before I will let them touch you.”
Fenris would hear no more on the matter. He strode into the smoke, eyes stinging and throat itching. Sebastian wasn’t sure what to do, if he should follow after him or head back to the wagon. Fenris was right: the mages had made an attempt on his life, and they wouldn’t stop until they succeeded or Fenris killed them. Going into that smoke would be presenting himself as a lamb to the slaughter.
Nevertheless, Sebastian followed after Fenris, coughing and pulling his cloak up over his mouth. He could see nothing beyond the tip of his nose in the thick veil of smoke. He tried to call for Fenris and breathed in the smoke. He sputtered and jerked his cloak back up to shield his mouth and nose.
“Sebastian!” Fenris shouted. “Get out of here! Go, go!”
Where would he go? Sebastian couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe, and he wasn’t sure which way he had entered from or which way he had stumbled. Fenris found him in the smoke, his hand closing around Sebastian’s elbow. He pulled him away from the smoke, away from the broken bodies of his men and the assailants that lay in wait for him.
They collapsed into the fresh air, taking deep, gulping lungfuls of it. Sebastian fell onto his knees, eyes and throat clogged and burning, skin slick with sweat. Fenris seemed less affected by the thick smoke than his lover, standing with the hilt of his sword gripped tightly.
“We need to move,” Fenris said. “Now, Sebastian. There are far too many of them. We need to press towards the East. Wildervale will welcome us, at least for a short time.”
“My men,” Sebastian gasped, “I have to get to my men.”
“They’re all dead,” Fenris said absently. He seemed undisturbed by the knowledge, while Sebastian felt the last of his breath brutally knocked out of him.
“Dead,” Sebastian whispered. He pulled up the earth in his hands, feeling it under his nails. “No, that... that cannot be...”
“We need to move,” Fenris repeated, grabbing Sebastian’s shoulder. “They will be upon us soon, and I can do little against them.” That seemed to pain Fenris more than the admission that all of Sebastian’s men had been felled: that he was so worthless against a handful of apostates.
Sebastian allowed Fenris to haul him up from the ground and slip an arm around his waist. He didn’t need the support, but he accepted it gratefully. He was too numb to feel his feet on the ground and too bereaved to feel the sweet air filling his lungs. The men who had accompanied him were trusted allies and old friends. He recalled Milo, the man who had stood with his grandfather many moons before he had been born, and the first touch of grief settled like a cold shadow on his heart.
“They will... need to be attended to,” Sebastian murmured. “Their families... They will need to be told that they have fallen.”
“We will see to them when we are safe,” Fenris said. He tightened his hold around Sebastian’s waist. “I’m sorry, Sebastian. I wish I could have done something to protect them.”
“No, I... I should never have taken such a large company,” Sebastian said. “I should never have put them in such peril.”
“Sebastian---”
Fenris was interrupted by a scream -- not of pain but of rage -- from behind them. He released Sebastian and turned, spotting the blood mage fifty yards back from where they stood. He rushed towards her, giving his own cry of fury as he fell on top of her. They tumbled to the ground, writhing and twisting. Fenris’ brands flashed brightly in the darkness, illuminating their fighting forms. Sebastian wanted to shout for him, to tell him to stop, or to be careful, or to rip the bitch’s heart out of her chest for what she and her apostate brethren had done to his men, but he stood there still and quiet.
“You will not touch him,” Fenris growled at the woman, pinning her wrists above her head. “You will not lay your hands on him while my blood still flows.”
The woman smiled. “I suppose I know what needs to be done, then.”
Fenris took a chance and let one of her hands go free. He reached down and plunged his hand into the woman’s chest, watching her face tremble from satisfied glee to excruciating pain. She tried to scream but nothing came out but a choked gurgle.
“You will be a message to the others,” Fenris whispered, closing his hand around her heart. “I will kill any who dare to hurt him.”
He crushed her heart in his fist, the scream that finally escaped her cut off brutally.
“Fenris,” Sebastian said. He rested his hand on the back of Fenris’ neck, not sure when he had moved closer to the man.
“We need to move,” Fenris said, resting his face briefly against Sebastian’s stomach. “Now.”
****
They set up a meager camp a few miles from where their envoy had been attacked. Sebastian was quiet and morose and didn’t respond to even the gentlest of prodding. Fenris decided to let him be, gathering firewood and stoking the flames while Sebastian sat on a firmly rooted log and stared into the night with his cloak bundled up around his face.
Fire would alert the mages to their presence, but it was a cold night and they couldn’t go without it.
“Wildervale is still a day’s journey from here,” Fenris said.
Sebastian grunted in response.
“If we rest here for a few hours, we can continue on. I am sure we can find a new carriage there, or at least send word to Starkhaven.”
Sebastian removed his pouch from his hip. “I have coin,” he said. “Not much, however I feel it will be unnecessary.”
“Coin is never unnecessary,” Fenris said.
Sebastian removed his cloak and moved to slip out of his tunic. Fenris fussed about how he was sure to catch cold, but he didn’t fight as strongly as he could have. Truth be told, he had rarely seen Sebastian’s flesh, and he wanted to enjoy the experience. Fenris found it strange that after all of their time together he and Sebastian had never seen one another’s bodies, or let trembling fingertips explore places long denied them.
If Sebastian wished to change that -- regardless of their being hunted -- Fenris would welcome it. He ached for the man, something that he would never admit and Sebastian would never ask.
“I bear the seal of Starkhaven,” Sebastian said. He touched the tattoo on his chest, just over his heart; circular and blood red. “Only the Vaels bear such a mark. I may request aid from any stop along the Imperial Highway, regardless of their personal feelings on the matter.”
“Starkhaven is so deeply respected?” Fenris asked. He reached out and traced his fingers over the tattoo, smiling when Sebastian’s breath caught -- slightly, but it made Fenris’ skin tingle.
“No,” Sebastian said, “Starkhaven is feared. We are the largest city in the Free Marches, with the largest military and the most skilled soldiers. Those who oppose us, or refuse us aid, are seen as enemies.”
Fenris remembered Sebastian’s vow that he would bring the full might of Starkhaven to Kirkwall if Hawke refused to punish Anders for his crimes. That night Fenris had seen just what lurked under Sebastian’s peaceful and pious surface. He was every bit the animal that Fenris was; Sebastian was only more skilled at hiding his bestial nature, at never letting his desire for blood and penance be what spurred his intent.
Fenris desired Sebastian, that night and every night after. If such a man could exist beyond the realm of dreams, Fenris had never met one before Sebastian had entered his life. Warm, gentle, affectionate, sophisticated -- but with a depth of anger and a thirst for justice Fenris had never seen before, beyond Anders’ maniacal craving for it.
His thumb brushed over Sebastian’s nipple. A strange place for his thumb to be, seeing as Sebastian’s tattoo ended a few inches above it.
“Fenris,” Sebastian whispered.
“Mm? Oh... I’m sorry, Sebastian. I thought---”
Sebastian took his hand and pulled it to his mouth, pressing a warm, slightly damp kiss against Fenris’ palm. “You must think that I am a horrible tease,” Sebastian said against Fenris’ ticklish skin. “You must think that I lead you on, only to fall short of actually--- I’m sorry, Fenris. I never meant to make you feel... to make you think that I do not want you, when I want you so badly it hurts me.”
“Have me,” Fenris whispered, voice low and breathless. “I’m yours, Sebastian.”
He understood that the death of his men weighed heavily on Sebastian’s heart. The man was too tender for his own good -- a quality that Fenris both lamented and loved about him. If Fenris could be a balm for him, even just for a handful of minutes in the quiet dark, he would do so gladly. Anything to cleanse the sorrow and pain from Sebastian’s blue eyes.
“I have never felt... The way that I... When I look at you.” Sebastian struggled. “Fenris, I---”
Fenris leaned close to Sebastian, brushing his lips against the corner of his mouth. “I know, Sebastian,” he whispered. “Take me. Have me. Please, I... I need you.”
Sebastian’s hand curled under Fenris’ jaw before slipping to the back of his neck. His breath was there, hot and moist against Fenris’ lips. Fenris closed his eyes, moving into the kiss gratefully, with a small sigh slipping between Sebastian’s lips. It could have been awkward -- should have been based on how long they had been waiting and how desperate they both were -- but it was as natural as breathing.
They melted together, bodies pressed tight and skin burning with want. Sebastian undressed Fenris slowly, his hands unsteady. He laughed -- hectic and flustered -- and apologized in a whisper Fenris never heard. Fenris needed no apology; what he needed was Sebastian’s hands on him, his mouth against his throat, his muscles tight and bunching under his nails.
His tattoo was kissed, softly, and then his nipple. Sebastian’s breath caught, his fingers tangling in Fenris’ hair. His back arched, pressing his nipple tighter against Fenris’ tongue. Fenris’ teeth clamped over Sebastian’s hardened flesh, his hand wandering low on Sebastian’s stomach, nudging under the waistband of his trousers.
“Fenris,” Sebastian panted, tugging hard on Fenris’ hair. “Yes.”
For years, Fenris had been waiting for that voice to sound so breathless and those fingers to knot in his hair; he had been waiting for that skin in his mouth and Sebastian’s erection pulsing in his hand. He had everything he had ever desired -- a person that was more precious to him than freedom. Fenris pressed his face against Sebastian’s throat, stroking him slowly and roughly.
“I need you,” Fenris breathed. “Please.”
Sebastian kissed Fenris’ forehead and traced his nails down the elf’s back. There were a thousand words in his heart and climbing up his throat, but they never reached his lips. What could he have said in that moment to let Fenris know how desperately he was needed? There was not a word in his language or in Fenris’ that could ever come close. Sebastian let his body do the talking; he let their bodies come together with a secret language all their own.
When he was inside of Fenris, Sebastian couldn’t believe how long he had waited, how he had lived before. His muscles trembled, his stomach tightened, his skin flushed under brown hands. Sebastian felt sure he would die from the pleasure; so much warmth and love and ecstasy were not for one mortal man to possess. The Maker would surely strike him down, and if so, Sebastian would go happily.
They moved together as the tides, strong and slow. Like the tides, they were calm on the surface, with only heavy breathing and sweaty skin to mark their passion. Inside, underneath, they were tumultuous, hearts beating too fast, heat too powerful in their stomachs and groins, limbs tingling from holding on too tight because they were too afraid to let go.
Take him from me when my hands are dead and cold, Fenris thought, tilting his head back and feeling Sebastian’s teeth and tongue on his throat. Not a moment before.
Years of waiting and wanting and needing shortened the experience, though the euphoria it produced was long lasting. When it was over and they lay together in the grass with the sky as their blanket, Fenris whispered something against Sebastian’s ear.
“I know,” Sebastian said, running his fingers across Fenris’ brand and down to his hip. “I love you too.”
****
It had been too long since Sebastian had woken up with someone in his arms. The Chantry had taught him that such base desires were sinful and an affront to the Maker, though Sebastian wondered how such warm brown skin under his hands could be so terrible.
Fenris still slept when Sebastian awoke, and he maneuvered himself out of the tangle of Fenris’ arms and legs. They would have to leave soon if they would make Wildervale before their pursuers found them, but it couldn’t hurt to let Fenris get a few more minutes of much-needed rest.
How silly of him -- Sebastian regretted leaving Fenris even for a few moments. Already he missed the feel of his skin and his breath slow and steady against his chest. Sebastian chuckled at his foolish romanticism as he dressed. His cloak was thrown over Fenris to shield him from the chill, for whatever good the thin fabric was worth.
Sebastian looked at the fire, nothing but smoldering embers now, and sighed. He was no woodsman; in fact, he could count on one hand -- using only two of his fingers -- the number of times he had been forced to chop wood. Still, more firewood was needed and, judging by the loud grumbling from his stomach, so was dinner. Sebastian grabbed his bow and the hatchet Fenris had used to chop the wood and moved deeper into the trees.
He had never been fond of hunting no matter how proficient he was with the bow. His grandfather had laughed at him, though gently, and explained to him that if he couldn’t handle shooting down a buck for dinner he would never be any good at warfare.
Even after so many years, Sebastian was inclined to agree with him. No matter what wrathful promises he had made Hawke when he had left Kirkwall, he couldn’t see himself returning with an army. No matter how badly he wished to punish Anders for his crimes and Hawke for his assistance, Sebastian’s heart was too soft for such things. He thought of Elthina, with her patient voice and loving eyes and tender hands trying to guide him; he thought of her telling him, Death is never justice, and his eyes burned and his throat tightened.
Absorbed in his own thoughts, Sebastian never saw the doe that darted past him on the right. He heard her hooves beating on the ground and turned, too late to do more than draw up his bow before the deer was over the hillside and lost in the trees and fog.
Well, a huntsman he was not, but perhaps he had developed some special woodcutting ability during his years of Chantry life. Unlikely, but Sebastian held out hope.
He bent down to examine the wood; this far south the wood was all black and gnarled, but it would burn, as all things did. Sebastian wanted the right angle for his first swing, but it missed the wood by a half inch and buried itself in the ground. Sebastian swore under his breath and yanked on the haft, but the damn thing was imbedded in the soil.
That was when he heard the snapping of twigs behind him. At first he wasn’t too alarmed -- most likely the doe had come back or some other creature was trying to get a closer look at the interloper in their woods. And then there was a cough, ragged and wet. Sebastian knew very little about animals, but he was quite sure they didn’t tend to cough.
“Don’t turn around,” the person behind him whispered.
“Milo?” Sebastian asked. He moved to look over his shoulder and Milo’s voice raised to a shout.
“Do not look at me!” Milo ordered. Sebastian heard the shink of metal sliding against its sheath. Milo had drawn his sword. Sebastian’s blood flooded with adrenaline and he gripped the haft of the hatchet tighter, keeping his breathing normal.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Milo said, “Maker knows I don’t, Sebastian. I love you like my own. That boy of yours... He’s the one I want blood from.”
“Fenris,” Sebastian whispered. His adrenaline fled, leaving him cold and trembling. He swallowed, trying to find his voice, but managed nothing more than a shaky whine.
“He has no right to be at your side,” Milo said. “He has no right to be in Starkhaven. I will rid you of him, and then everything will be as it should. You will take the throne, you will take a wife, and Starkhaven will once more be the jewel of the Free Marches. That boy would see her stained. To think of an elf in your bed...” Milo spat and took a few steps closer to Sebastian. The tip of his sword nudged Sebastian’s shoulder, sliding up to press against the side of his neck.
“You hired the mages,” Sebastian said. “You did all of this to be rid of Fenris? There is no reason to do this. He has been good to me. He loves me.”
“Loves you,” Milo mocked, chuckling meanly. “You’re too naive, Sebastian. Your grandfather would be ashamed to see you in such a state, all tangled up with some treacherous elf boy.”
Sebastian couldn’t hesitate; if he did, Fenris would be dead. He turned and buried the hatchet into Milo’s thigh, his scream of anger and fear mingling with Milo’s screech of pain.
The sword slipped out of his hand and tumbled to the ground. Sebastian yanked the hatchet free, feeling bile rise up in his throat when he saw the terrible wound. It was a deep gash, deep enough for Sebastian to see the white gleam of Milo’s bone through the strong flow of blood.
Milo made a strangled, gargled noise, scrabbling at Sebastian’s face with his nails. He scratched Sebastian’s cheek, and jabbed his finger at his eye. Sebastian growled and swung the hatchet again, in a rough arc. The blade landed in Milo’s chest; Sebastian looked into his eyes those short moments before he died. He saw shock and excruciating pain in his rheumy eyes, but no regret, no apology, no fatherly love that had marked his and Sebastian’s lives together.
Sebastian yanked the hatchet free and turned his face as Milo staggered back and hit the ground. He waited a few minutes, shaking and crying and struggling against an overwhelming urge to vomit.
When he finally opened his eyes, everything was over. Milo was dead, his body lying motionless in the thick grass, his lifeless eyes staring up at the brightening sky.
With every bit of strength Sebastian had, he dragged the man’s body deeper into the trees, leaving him to the wolves. He spoke a short prayer, but with very little emotion. The Maker would guide him or he would not -- Sebastian had no more care to offer him.
He was too numb to think on what had happened, or to wonder what had driven Milo to such desperate means. All Sebastian could do was drag himself to the small brook by their camp and carefully wash Milo blood from his skin and clothes.
When he finally returned to Fenris the sky was bright and Fenris was dressed and waiting for him.
“Where were you?” Fenris asked.
“I thought... I might try to catch us something for breakfast, but I’m afraid my aim was a little off.”
Fenris touched the scratch on Sebastian’s cheek, looking up at him with a mixture of worry and concern. “How did you get this?”
“Oh, that’s... nothing,” Sebastian said, “I must have gotten it from a branch. These damned woods... I just... don’t know what I’m doing.”
Something caught in his throat. Tears, terror, rage, he wasn’t sure. He looked away from Fenris to keep him from seeing whatever horrible truth was in his eyes.
“Sebastian,” Fenris whispered, “are you---”
“Fine,” Sebastian said, perhaps too harshly. He looked back to Fenris, into his eyes. “I’m fine,” he repeated, gentler, stroking Fenris’ shoulders. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the end of Fenris’ nose. “Just anxious to be gone from these blighted woods,” he said. “Anxious to be home and to have you there with me.”
Fenris smiled, catching Sebastian’s lips in a short kiss when he moved to pull away. “Let us be gone, then,” he said.