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It happened so quickly, Ariane barely had time to react.
One minute they were having a perfectly normal conversation, the next they had been hit with a cascade of furs. Blankets, throws, cloaks and coats, they all came crashing down on top of them. Acting on instincts that told her something was attacking them, Ariane grabbed Sebastian, ignoring his yelp of surprise, and shielded him with her body. They fell to the floor. Sebastian hit the stonework hard, landing flat on his back. He groaned as Ariane, and the furs, followed.
Ariane stuck out her hands and caught herself before she landed on Sebastian. She landed above him, her wrists and knees taking her weight, her long braid falling over her shoulder and hitting him in the face. The furs landed on her back, piling up, covering them both until they were completely encompassed in a hot, furry cocoon.
With a resounding crash, the case the furs had been stored on collapsed to the floor, barely missing Ariane and Sebastian.
“What the fuck?” Ariane said.
“I think that was Sister Matilda’s collection,” Sebastian wheezed.
“Her collection?”
“Yes,” Sebastian said. “They’ve been sitting on that case for the better part of a decade. She’s added to them consistently at least once a week since I became a brother—”
“Evidently,” Ariane said. The furs were just moth-eaten enough that light shone through in hazy patches. She could just make out Sebastian’s face. “The more important question is… what the hell kind of Chantry Sister collects furs? Does she have some kind of… I dunno, fur fetish?”
“They’re donations. For the poor and the sick. She stores the ones she cannot use here.”
“Huh.” The furs weighed heavily on Ariane’s back. “I’m going to stick to the fur fetish idea. Why else would she keep so many ones that are in such shit condition she can’t use them for anything?”
“Sister Matilda despises excess. She will use something until it wears out.”
“That’s all and good, except that I fail to see a use for these. Unless suffocating visiting supplicants is her goal.” Ariane sighed. “I still think the fur fetish is a viable explanation, to be perfectly honest.”
Sebastian chuckled. He caught Ariane’s eye and his laughter died. “Um… Hawke?”
“Yes?”
“I… well…”
He shifted slightly, trying to wriggle his way out, but beneath the pile of furs, there was nowhere to go. Ariane became highly aware of their proximity, of her position over him. She scanned his face, taking in his questioning blue eyes, the lingering look he gave her, the way his hand was raised to brush her hair away, the way he fought his to keep his instincts in check.
It was a valiant fight. If he wasn’t so good at keeping his desires in check, Ariane felt he would have kissed her right then and there.
She certainly wanted him to.
There had been many times throughout the past years, as her feelings for him blossomed (like the slowest blooming slower in existence—or at least, that was how Bethany had put it) when she had wondered what it would be like to hold him, to kiss him. How it would feel to have his lips pressed against hers, the fire of his touch against her skin…
Oh, how she wondered. And every time she thought of it, she had to push those thoughts aside. He was sworn to the Chantry. And if she cared for him at all, she had to respect his choices.
And she cared.
A little too much.
That was why she had these feelings in the first place, wasn’t it?
“Sebastian,” she said. She was still holding herself up by her wrists. They were getting sore.
“It is, perhaps, a little—er—warm under Sister Matilda’s furs, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” Ariane said. “Yeah, it is.”
“We should get up.”
“We probably should, yeah.”
“Definitely.”
Sebastian ran a hand through her hair, toying with the braid that fell over her shoulder. In the dim light beneath the furs, she saw him bite his lower lip as his eyes searched her expression, looking for something.
Permission? Approval? As if she could tell him to break his vows. She would never, not matter how much she wanted to—
Sebastian let his hand drop.
“What?” Ariane asked.
“I… you know I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“You know what.”
“No,” Ariane said. “I don’t. Not really. You’ve never said anything. Nothing explicitly, that is. I can’t say that I know what you’re talking about unless we’re on the same page.”
Sebastian groaned. “You’re not making this easy, Hawke.”
“Then be straight with me!”
“I…” He was fighting himself again. It was all over his face. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It would be… Unwise. Inappropriate. The impropriety of this situation—”
“I didn’t ask those furs to fall on us,” Ariane said. “If anything, that’s Matilda’s fault.”
“Yes, but you’re the one who is still lying on top of me.”
“And you’re the one who hasn’t asked me to move.” Ariane paused. “Do you? Do you want me to move?”
Sebastian closed his eyes. “Ariane,” he breathed. “Please. Don’t be difficult.”
She noticed immediately that he had stopped referring to her by her last name. She leaned a little closer. “Do you,” she said, her voice low, “or do you not want me to move?”
“Maker, Ariane! Whatever you’re thinking… we can’t.”
“And what exactly do you think I am thinking?”
“Ariane, please,” he said. “We’re in the Chantry, for Andraste’s sake. If we want to jump each other’s bones, can we at least wait to have this conversation in a different place?”
She froze. “So, you want me to—”
“That’s not what I said!”
“You do want to sleep with me!”
“For the love of the Maker, do you have to be so crass? I did not say that!”
“You said ‘if we want to jump each other’s bones’. We. You very clearly said we—”
“Yes, I said ‘we’! Are you happy now?”
“Very. You must not be as uptight as you’d like all of us to think.”
Sebastian groaned. “I am sworn to the Chantry, Ariane, but I am still a man with… desires, to put it bluntly. All I meant is that… perhaps, in another world, with different circumstances, if our lives led to a different point—”
“Then this wouldn’t be a problem?”
“No, this would certainly still be a problem,” Sebastian said. “Because no matter how much I was in love with you, I would not sleep with you in the Chantry. I have recovered some sense of respectability.”
“Some?” Ariane said.
Sebastian sighed. “You’re impossible. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“On occasion.”
“You’re terrible.”
“I know.”
“A very bad influence.”
“I try.”
“And you may have just won me over.”
“Have I now?”
“Yes.”
His hands were cupping her face and he pulled her down, pressing his lips to hers. She lay on top of him, her light tunic catching in his chainmail, the kiss consuming her. She scraped her hands through his hair, breathing in his scent, drinking in his taste, her heart fluttering with joy and confusion, the heavy air beneath the furs intensifying the heat between them. She was breathless with desire and want and need and happiness and confusion, all at once.
Ariane sat up, pushing the furs off her, disentangling herself from them and throwing them away. She gasped for air, fanning herself and ran her hands through her mussed hair. She looked down at Sebastian, who, now that he had emerged into the full light of the Chantry, seemed taken aback at his actions.
He paled and sat up, pushing himself away from Ariane. “Well,” he said, his voice croaking as he stood up and backed away. “Um. I—”
“It’s okay,” Ariane said quickly, also standing.
“I apologize, Hawke,” Sebastian said. “That was… inappropriate of me. I apologize for my behaviour.”
“You don’t have to say sorry—”
“But I must.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” she said quickly. “I wanted you to kiss me. I wanted you to—”
“I’m not saying it for you,” Sebastian interrupted. “I must say it for me.” He coughed, a faint blush on his cheeks. He refused to meet her eyes. “I have stepped beyond my boundaries.”
“It’s okay.” Ariane placed a hand on his arm. “It was one kiss. It doesn’t have to happen again, unless you want it to. It’s not the end of the world.”
Sebastian pulled away. “Maker, I am being tested today,” he said, under his breath. “I don’t blame you, Hawke. Don’t blame yourself, either. This was me. This was my decision. My fault.” He paused, closing his eyes. He exhaled, long and slow. “I will see you later,” he added, then strode from the room without a backwards glance.
Ariane watched him go, an odd lump in her throat.
Damn that man. Damn him.
A moment later, a mousy, grey-haired Chantry sister poked her head into the room. “Oh, sweet Maker!” she exclaimed, eyes widening at the mess on the floor. “What happened here, Hawke?”
“Your fur collection fell over,” Ariane said shortly. “They nearly crushed myself and Brother Vael, I might add. But never fear, sister. No lasting damage has been done.” She crossed the room and pushed past the surprised Sister Matilda. “Hopefully,” she added, and left.
Ariane tried desperately not to think of Sebastian as she made her way to the Hanged Man that night. She wore her heart on her sleeve and Varric and Isabela had an uncanny way of worming secrets out of her. What had happened beneath the furs was something she wanted to keep to herself.
For as long as possible.