#➸ 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔣𝔲𝔯𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 ;; ( return to starkhaven )

[rcgueprince]

A PART OF HIM would never truly grow accustomed to the pageantry of the court – or perhaps it was just how easily it had returned to him that bothered Sebastian. Two years of song and dance to claim the throne of a home he hadn’t seen in over a decade, to prove he could lead, had the man longing for the simpler days of hearing confessions.

Perhaps it is why – against better judgment – he made the pilgrimage to Skyhold. A letter would have sufficed, and Maker knows the risk in leaving when the dust had only just settled amongst Starkhaven elite, but he needed to make the journey. He needed to walk with the refugees and the faithful to the stronghold in the mountains, to bow before Andraste’s chosen and swear aid to the cause.

Sebastian hadn’t expected to see the youngest Hawke standing by their side, the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces.

( Carver was taller now, years of combat filling out the boyish frame. The title suited him; greatness, or infamy depending on who you asked, followed that family. )

Nerves roiled in the pit of the prince’s stomach as he made his way towards the Commander’s office, the empty glasses in hand clinking with his steps. In truth, Sebastian wasn’t sure what drove him to knock on the door or to – after a breath – open it and enter.

A desire to connect with someone from his past, perhaps?

( To hope, in some small way, that his letters hadn’t been in vain. )

“I hope you pardon the intrusion,” He begins, the Starker lilt in voice heavier since his return home, “I’ve brought wine.”

@lone-blade

[rcgueprince]

@magecrashout asked for  a  kiss  that  comes  out  of  nowhere AND a  kiss  during  a  fake  relationship ehehe

“Hawke,”

A name. A demand for her attention.  

The manicured garden path curves slightly, its flowering bushes offering the two a modicum of privacy amidst the combined courts of Starkhaven and Kirkwall. To be brazen with his affections toward the viscountess - regardless of their supposed marriage - would invite gossip. It was a truth the prince was only vaguely aware of through the pounding in his ears as Hawke’s steps slow, her gown fluttering slightly as she turned to face him. There is an inquisitive curve to her dark brows, her bright eyes returning his stare. She was breathtakingly beautiful, even if slightly annoyed at the dogged way the prince had pursued her through the garden.

Try as he might to settle his raging heart, he could think of little else than the eyes of that damned noble. How he had leered at Hawke’s decolletage decorated with the fine jewels Sebastian had given her; the gall to make a passing advance toward his wife within the halls of his castle -

It was maddening, the way he covets a woman who was both his and would never be his in the way he craves her.

This was a marriage for the benefit of their cities, not a union between lovers. He had no more a claim to her heart than any other guest here today, a truth he had struggled with from the moment he met her at the altar.

Perhaps even before that. 

Sebastian’s hand wraps around her wrist firmly, crimson sleeves hiding the pale skin underneath. In a fluid motion, he pulls the viscountess towards him, his free arm wrapping around her waist. As soon as his arm is settled, he releases her wrist to grasp the side of her neck, bowing his head slightly to kiss her. Desperately, he seeks permission from her parted lips, searching for more in a vain attempt to quell the burning in his chest.

Let them talk, at least in their hushed whispers, she is mine

When Sebastian pulls away, it is to whisper an apology, mouth only a breath away from hers,

“Forgive me, I-“ cannot stand the idea of another man having the attention I so desperately seek, “Do not know what came over me.” 

[rcgueprince]

[ impossible ] sender kisses receiver as a final gesture, knowing they can't be together

ahahaha

𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔱 || 𝔫𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔠𝔠𝔢𝔭𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤

“Do this for me. Let me die knowing it is the one I love who will give me peace.”

Sebastian held no illusions about the life they led. From the moment he had met Carver Hawke, their lives connected in a series of “almosts”; two desperate men on parallel paths reaching across the ever-growing divide for someone, anyone who knew the agony of loss.

The chantry had been his succor, the balm that eased the ache of his grief, but Carver had been the first to see who he was. It was something he had given to the youngest Hawke in return time and time again. They offered one another a place – however fleeting – where they could escape the shadows of their family name. In the flickering candlelight of the Chantry, Sebastian had shared a vision of the future where Carver could have been his. He would survive the expedition, and Sebastian would secure the throne in Starkhaven and give him a home.

“I'll return to you.” The young man had promised, holding the laybrother’s face as if he was someone to be treasured, “No matter the cost, and no matter the battle.”

A decade later, the newly crowned prince had repeated those words against the Warden-Commander’s lips, pulling him close. Reports scattered across the stone floor, the remnants of a shattered wine glass staining the pages. He would apologize come morning, but at that moment, he craved nothing more than to taste the liquor on Carver’s tongue.  

“Return to me. No matter the cost, and no matter the battle.”

He had prayed to the Maker every night, begging in hushed whispers for this one mercy. Sebastian had lost both his family and the peace he had within the hallowed halls of the Kirkwall Chantry. Let him have this. Let him have Carver, for what little time their lives had left.

When Carver does finally call upon him, it is for the ultimate mercy a man can offer.

When Carver comes to Starkhaven, it is to die.

Sebastian had always dreamt of showing the youngest Hawke the lands he called home. They may have been little more than idle daydreams of a lovesick young man, but the hope held within had become a chant of their own. When Carver returned, when Sebastian had a proper bid for the throne, he would bring him here. Here, where the lush forests and the clear blue water of the Minanter would welcome them, offer a peace that Kirkwall never could.

They could be happy here.

When Hawke returned without him, the prayers still continued. A candle for Bethany, for Leandra, for the delusion that Carver would keep his promise.

“It’s almost romantic,” Carver says, his hoarse voice hitting Sebastian like a blow to the chest, ripping him from his spiraling thoughts. For all that he tries, he cannot bring himself to roll his eyes or laugh out of fear that if he opens his mouth, the grief will drown him before he has a chance to do what was asked.

“I-“ Sebastian croaks, the words getting stuck in his throat. Carver only squeezes his hand, reassuring him.

“I know.”

They sit a little ways away from the river’s edge, the small clearing by the water dotted with wildflowers and blooming bushes. He could think of no better place to ease Carver to the end – a place of peace for a boy who has only known war. At least here, in Sebastian’s arms, the Warden will face his end under the sun. Safe. His body would not become food for the darkspawn; his soul would know the Maker’s mercy.

What mercy is there for me, he wonders selfishly, that I must live without you?

Carver talks, and in a few days, Sebastian will remember what it was he said. He will remember the hollow jokes spoken by a man who had cried to him the night before, scared of what was happening to his mind. In the moment, however, he watches the warden with rapt attention, committing every detail to memory. He was thinner now, his eyes starting to reflect a cloudy hue, but he still shined in Sebastian’s mind. There was no one like Carver Hawke in all of Thedas, and there would never be another Hawke after today.

When Sebastian moves to kiss him, the other man welcomes the gesture. He is greedy and desperate, hands mapping every inch of Carver’s body. Carver holds him, in turn, as if he were the final tether keeping him lucid – and perhaps he was, the last flickering light keeping him from giving into the song reverberating in his blood.

“Sebastian,” The warden calls his name in between kisses, the gentleness of his tone crushing.

“I can’t,” Sebastian’s voice is small, his steady hands trembling against the sides of Carver’s face.

“You can,” Because I need you to.

And he will, because he has never loved a man like he has loved Carver.

Pale hands rest on Sebastian’s as he positions the dagger to ensure a quick end, steadying the archer’s grip. It would be the last time those scarred hands would hold him. His heart lurches at the thought, panic tightening his throat.  

“I will spend every day of my life loving you.”

“I would say the same, but I’m afraid there’s much of that left.” Carver’s laugh is more of a pained wheeze, and Sebastian can bear the tightness in his chest no longer. The tears that spill blind him, but he persists, tightening his grip.

“Ready?” Carver asks him, knowing neither one of them truly was.

“Ready.” Sebastian responds hollowly. No. How could he ever be?

Guided by the other man’s hand, Sebastian sinks the blade into his almost lover’s chest, just as Carver steals one last kiss. A wordless gratitude, a final goodbye. The prince’s body heaves with the pained sobs that escape him almost immediately, the sickening way he feels the blade tear into the flesh of the man he loves. It is a sensation that will haunt him for the rest of his life.

His love is a prayer and a confession, repeated to the dying man long after his body stills. It is repeated until it hardly sounds like anything other than babble, repeated until it feels as though his lips would crack if he attempts to form the sounds of the vowels one last time.

The royal guards will find him the next morning, still clutching the man who was once Carver to his chest.

It will take three of them to pull the grieving prince from the corpse.

[rcgueprince]

SKYHOLD.

Sebastian’s arrival at the fortress was one marked with little fanfare; the crown prince of Starkhaven having shown up largely unannounced, with only a small detail of his most trusted royal guards alongside him. Leaving so soon following his coronation had not been a popular decision amongst his advisors, but few people short of the Maker himself could sway his mind once it was set.

He needed to make the pilgrimage; his sacrifice a representation of the loyalty Starkhaven could offer Andraste's chosen.

It was not until the third day of pouring over maps and discussing the finer details of what mutual support between their forces was to look like that Sebastian, admittedly, noticed the surprising absence of the Inquisitor himself. He had all but vanished after Sebastian’s arrival, exchanging only the briefest pleasantries.  Motivated by the itch under his skin to do anything besides talk about plans and the nagging curiosity surrounding Andraste's Chosen, Sebastian settled on seeking out the man himself.

The underground levels of the fortress felt oddly private in comparison to the bustle of the upper levels. Sebastian descended carefully, conscious of his intrusion and the teacups he carried in each hand - his idea of a peace offering. After getting turned around when he nearly marched right into the prisons, Sebastian finally found his destination.

A small library in the depths of the fortress, a large book resting open on the desk.

"My deepest apologies for disturbing you," Sebastian says to the open air as he crosses the threshold and heads towards the desk, gently placing the teacups down. "I've brought you tea?" The man's words were less of a statement and more of a question as blue eyes scanned the seemingly empty room. Perhaps the Inquisitor stepped out?

[rcgueprince]

"Prince Vael..." Rathlein slips from shadow's grasp into tandem step with the archer, hand moving to rest into the curve of his spine, guiding him with gentle pressure away from prying eyes of the court.

They'd hardly had time to speak, let alone any alone this week.

Rathlein was making time.

HE HAD YET TO GET ACCUSTOMED to the title, though the voice that speaks it is a welcomed distraction. Since his arrival home, Sebastian had - at the incessant urging of his advisors - begun to host gatherings at the palace. Mingling alongside Starkhaven’s nobility felt akin to standing in a pit of vipers, but the importance of the action outweighed his disdain for the show of excess. He tenses under the other man’s touch, the gesture surprisingly bold, given the present company. Masking the surprise with a calm tone, Sebastian excuses himself from the nobles around him before yielding to the former warden.  

“Sir Ciriane,” The formal tone of his accented voice carries with it a hint of amusement as the two head towards a more secluded sitting room, “Does something trouble you, my friend?”

[rcgueprince]

“  the world isn’t made up of heroes and monsters. just broken people balancing between the two.  ”

𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔱 || 𝔞𝔩𝔴𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔞𝔠𝔠𝔢𝔭𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤

The gardens were fairly quiet this time of day; a few hushed conversations carried on the midday breeze mingled with the chirping of birds brave enough to make it this far up the mountains. Sebastian has often lingered here since his arrival at Skyhold, preferring quiet contemplation after the discussions of aid and what his people could do to support the Inquisition’s effort.

“  the world isn’t made up of heroes and monsters. just broken people balancing between the two.  ”

It had been a surprise to see the Herald, given how busy Skyhold seemed, but the company was far from unpleasant. His words give the former laybrother pause, letting the silence fall as he thinks of…

He thinks of Kirkwall.

“Once upon a time,” Sebastian begins, a tired smile on his face, “I may have argued with you. I had been a naïve young man who saw the world in black and white until it was far too late. Now, I understand that I know very little about what makes a good man.”

Glancing over at Pirith, he asks,

“Do you believe in a higher power, Inquisitor? It doesn’t have to be the Maker, just-” Sebastian hesitates, bright eyes looking back out in the garden, “When you are facing a fight you may not walk away from, what do you think of?”  

[rcgueprince]

“I feared the worst,”

Sebastian breathes, his voice a hushed whisper against dark brown hair. He holds Maxwell close to his chest, one hand on the shorter man’s back, the other gently settling on the base of his neck. It’s a dizzying feeling, this relief that is both a weight off his chest and a knot in his throat. After years of uncertainty, nerves gnawed by the deep-seated fear that something terrible had happened to his friend, here he was.

Alive.

Real.

He laughs then, more a mirthless puff of air than anything else, but it is all he can do to keep from crying. A lifetime’s worth of questions come to mind: the concerns and worries of someone who never got the chance to say goodbye. Instead of allowing the onslaught to push through, Sebastian stays quiet, selfishly relishing the moment just a little longer.

Reluctantly, he eases his hold on Maxwell, pulling away just enough to look at his face. His hands slide from the mage’s back to his shoulders, a part of Sebastian refusing to let go entirely.

“When the circles fell to the conflict, I-“ He laughs again, shaking his head in disbelief before lifting a hand to cup the side of Maxwell’s face, “I had been so worried something happened, I... It does not matter because here you are.”

Bright eyes study the other’s features, taking his time now to study the differences. Time may have changed them both, but even as he sees the man Maxwell became, he is reminded of the boy who followed him on every hare-brained scheme Sebastian could think up.

“Forgive me for not realizing it was you earlier, “

Truth be told he was beyond thankful for the tea, for the way the cup warmed his hands and the way the tea itself eased the hungry rumble in his stomach. He'd been down here for perhaps a little bit too long, usually by now he'd either be found by one of his companions or his spymaster herself, but even on the days that they didn't need to seek him out he would have wandered back up on his own anyway. Usually either out of hunger such as now, or the growing worry that he'd been absent for too long and it had been noticed.

Which it clearly had, by Sebastian at least, given that the prince was down here, looking at him -- no, staring at him. Sebastian was staring at him. Had he said something wrong? Maker, why could he not remember what he'd said just a moment ago? Worry that he'd done something wrong rises inside him yet again, his grip on the teacup tightening as his left hand moves down to instead hold onto his wrist in a knuckle white grip.

You finally get to see Sebastian again and in a matter of moments you mess it all up. Of course you do.

His eyes are closed again, and while he can't remember when or why he'd closed them he is thankful that he can't see whatever expression had finally settled on the Princes face. Disappointment? Frustration?

Maxwell. You of all people --

Oh. He did. He did remember.

He could barely explain what happens inside his chest at hearing his own name, and by the makers grace he's not going to be asked to. His heart feels as though it's trying to claw it's way out of his throat, and he knows that if he hadn't opened his eyes right before the cup is taken from him that he'd probably have launched the thing anyway the moment he was touched.

He wasn't delusional enough to say that he was holding himself together well before the hug, tears had begun to well up in the corners of his eyes, but the instant Sebastians arms are around him, whatever resolve he'd built up over the last... Maker, how long had it actually been? He feels as though he's been held together with string and everything was starting to come loose.

It takes a near colossal amount of effort to pull his arms away from his chest, but the reward of being able to wrap them around Sebastians waist was well beyond worth it. After that one movement if feels as though he's finally able to do more, a shuffle of his feet to move closer, shoulders dropping from their rigid placement as Maxwell all but collapses into the hold on him. He should say something. Anything really, but all he can make himself do is tuck his chin in and rest his forehead against Sebastians shoulder.

Don't cry. By all that is holy, Maxwell, don't cry.

[rcgueprince]

SEBASTIAN SHIFTS POSTURE, a half-step taken toward the mage before him, fully prepared to reassure Andraste’s Chosen that he need not bow, but something about the action stops him in his tracks. A nagging feeling burrows deep into his chest; the dull ache of memories muddled by the passage of time, something lost dancing on the tip of his tongue. The Inquisitor rightens, and for the briefest moment, their eyes meet. 

Familiarity. 

The ache sharpens into a more tangible feeling, a flicker of recognition furrowing the prince’s brows as the other man, as quickly as their eyes had met, glances back around the room. They had said his name when he arrived, hadn’t they? Travel-beaten from the journey across the sea and up through the mountains, it had taken all Sebastian’s attention to will his body to comply, to make his kneel before the Inquisitor look fluid and graceful against protesting aches. He had registered the name but quickly lost it to exhaustion then.

 It comes to him now that the initial shock wears off, and blue eyes watch him reach for the teacup.

He knew him

Sebastian misses the first words the other man says, running the options in his head. The Trevelyan family had multiple children, but only one was around Sebastian’s age. The last time he had seen the youngest, they had been but boys. He could almost delude himself into believing he was mistaken, that is, until the mage holds the teacup to his chest. 

Of course it was him. The Trevelyan family only had one son blessed with the Maker’s gift of magic.

“Your arrival wasn’t upsetting at all, your highness. I am happy to have you here.”

They had snuck out of the city walls to the forest, Sebastian’s hand clasped tightly around Maxwell’s. The early summer sun warmed his skin as they climbed the rocky ground. ‘Be careful, Max. Don’t let go of my hand, okay?’

“Maxwell,” Sebastian breathes, a bright smile stretching across his face, “You, of all people, don’t have to call me your Highness.”

He wastes no time crossing the close space between them, gently taking the cup from his hands to set back down the desk before wrapping his arms around him in a tight embrace.

"I hardly believed it, but bless the Maker, it's you."

Sebastian is bowing.

Sebastian Vael is bowing to him.

There's an immediate sort of panic in his chest, the feeling followed by Maxwell himself dipping into a bow that was more fitting to the Prince of Starkhaven. He should have used his title too, really he should have said anything other than jus blurting out the mans first name. Embarrassment heats his cheeks and brings color to the tips of his ears once he straightens out again, resisting the growing urge to keep his gaze anywhere else.

Look at him max. Keep your eyes open, push your shoulders back, look at him. Look. At. Him.

His shoulders square back and his gaze lifts to his old friends face in a snap, but the eye contact only lasts for the barest of moments before Maxwell finds himself looking away again, trying to focus on literally anything but the ache in his head, hand, and heart. They had spent a lifetime apart, expecting -- no, hoping -- that he would be remembered was yet another foolish thing to add to the list.

They would read it someday, right next to his accomplishes. Maxwell Trevelyan, The Makers Fool.

Tea. Drink the tea. Stop embarrassing yourself.

He reaches first for the cup with his left hand, but the dull throb of pain and flash of green has him withdrawing it before he even managed to reach the cup. Right hand it is. This time his reach is successful in it's attempt, tea lifted to his lips for a cautious sip, then another, before finally Maxwell realizes that he was supposed to respond.

Shit.

" Oh you didn't -- I have enough stress I didn't even notice. No. Wait. "

Deep breaths. Both hands move now to hug the tea to his chest as he clears his throat and tries again. Why was he always so bad at this? Hadn't it been easier once to talk to people?

" Your arrival wasn't upsetting at all, your highness. I am happy to have you here. "

[rcgueprince]

THE THUD OF THE BOOK STARTLES HIM, his hand instinctively reaching for his bow – noticeably absent – before remembering precisely where he was.  Sebastian has enough time to quickly steady the cups as the desk is jostled, barely saving them from spilling, before the Inquisitor pops up from seeming… underneath?

The situation is so chaotic it’s almost hilarious, and the prince struggles to bite back a chuckle while he watches the other man fumble for his words. Carefully, he releases his grip on the cups and takes a step back for a polite bow, a small smile on his face.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you -,” he repeats, trailing off only as he realizes that… the advisors never told him the Inquisitor’s name.

Surely they had? He looks over the Herald, trying to piece together the memories of the last few days in an attempt to remember before their eyes meet and the prince realizes how his actions could be misconstrued.

The realization of his faux pas burns his ears as he continues, “I have come to apologize. I should have sent word before my visit; it was rude of me not to. I hope I haven’t caused any undue stress for you.”

Most people in positions of power would be embarrassed at the amount of time they spent actively avoiding any duties specific to the position they found themselves in. Most people in power spent ages acquiring it, nurturing it, and protecting it.

Maxwell was not most people.

In fact, one of the people that Maxwell was distinctly not like had somehow managed to make his way across the waking sea in the midst of a battle for the throne. Or the recovery of it. Makers breath he can't remember if Josephine said Sebastian had succeeded or if it seemed like he was going to, or...

Why was there so much he was expected to follow?

And it wasn't like he wanted to avoid Sebastian in particular, in fact, every memory he had with the other man in it was good, very good most of the time. What he wanted to avoid was the understanding that for some reason or another, Sebastian Vael had come back into his life with a need or a plan.

Another person with wants that wouldn't just stay in his memories.

With the door closed and the candled burning, his little hideaway in the vault had become more welcoming than his own room, the small area warming with the time he spent in it. Unfortunately warming it enough that the Inquisitor manages to fall asleep in his nest of blankets and pillows behind the desk without intending to, book held open in his lap.

The sound of the door should have been enough to wake him.

The first comment should have been more than enough even if the door wasn't. But it's the gentle sound of the tea cups hitting the wood of the desk that he'd fallen asleep against that does the job, eyes snapping open as his mind struggled to follow along with why he was startled. Was someone --

I've brought you tea?

He openly gasps at the voice, the sound immediately followed by the clatter of his heavy book onto the stone floor, by the sound of him knocking his head into the lip of the desk in his rush to try and put himself into a position more fitting of the Inquisitor that this person had come to seek out.

Several statements clamor for dominance in his mind and eventually his mouth, leading to him stringing several of them together in something near nonsensical as he pressed his palm against the new and jarring ache in his head.

" Brasca -- I didn't -- What do you... "

His last attempt at a sentence trails off once his eyes focuse on the man in the room and the last dredges of accidental sleep release their hold on him. The very person he'd been avoiding so damn well, standing in front of the only possible exit.

" Sebastian. "

[rcgueprince]

“ Seems when they give you a title they expect you to see to the work that comes with it as well. "

SEBASTIAN CANNOT HELP the chuckle that escapes him, shaking his head slightly. Tanned hands, dotted with faint freckles and old scars carefully set the glasses and the bottle cradled in the crook of his arm on the desk. With his arms free, Sebastian takes a moment to look around the room, his tone distracted as he answers Carver.

“Of that, I am all too aware. I am sure once I return home, I will face the full fury of my advisors.”

The fading light of the setting sun streams through the gaps in the roof, dancing over the cobblestones of the walls and the creeping ivy taking root. The bed seemed almost an afterthought, only a few feet away from wooden boards ( Sebastian assumed these were for roof repair? Or perhaps… they had been the roof... )

“Carver,” Sebastian turns on his heel back to look back towards the desk, “How do you rest here? Does it not get cold in the evenings?” Concern furrows his brows, lips turning to a frown slightly, “You have holes. In the roof. What do you do if it snows?”

Tired eyes pry themselves from ink-splattered parchment. (He had hounded his men in the field to be more careful of their reports. Yet, he can not blame them for being clumsy with an inkwell while traversing the corners of the continent.) He had expected anyone but Sebastian.

In fact, the commander thought he rather made a fool of himself in the great hall. To think the two would meet again after so long, and under such circumstances. And while anxiety had ultimately gripped Carver in a vice, the joy of meeting still thrummed in his veins like white hot adrenaline.

" No! I mean... " a sigh, the weight of a boulder, escapes him all the while a heavy hand rubs the plane of his face. " Not at all; come in! " Carver rises, shuffling papers and books and maps and other trinkets about his desk in an effort to make room.

" Wine? " he grins, eyes darting down to the two classes in Sebastian's hands. " You know me so well. "

& he does; how could he not? Their time spent lamenting childish woes in the quiet of the Chantry, their letters shades over thousands of miles and years--spanning the entire decade! It is no exaggeration to say that Sebastian knows Carver best.

" My apologies for leaving suddenly. Seems when they give you a title they expect you to see to the work that comes with it as well. "