Chapter Text
Once upon a time, there was a Prince; rude, rowdy, and rambunctious. He brought such shame to his strict and pious parents, they threatened to send him to the Chantry.
One day he met a woman, a soldier who fled from a war-torn country, and the two immediately fell in love. The Prince brought her to his parents in hopes they would give them their blessing. But his parents did not approve of the foreign woman, her blood was not noble enough. He would be sworn in as a brother of the faith, never to see his beloved again.
The Prince resolved to run away with his love. But his family had many enemies, jealous nobles who wanted the thrones for their own selfish gain. The matriarch of one such noble family craved the throne so badly, she made a deal with the demon, giving her powers and allowing her to control others to do her bidding. Unwilling to get her own hands dirty, she compelled evil men to storm the Prince’s castle. Just as the prince fled in the night, the men crept in and slaughtered every last member of his family. He turned back but it was already too late, and one of the men pierced him with an arrow.
Blood dripped along, as the road turned into grass. The Prince and his beloved were to meet by the woods and run off together, start somewhere new. But he stumbled, tears shed as easily as the blood.
A vampire lurked in the woods. While she licked her lips in hunger, she took pity on the human, easy prey that he was. Rather than drain all his blood into an empty husk, she took a single bite and loosed some of her blood, turning him into a vampire.
The Prince's fiancé came to their planned meeting spot, but found this happening too late. She ran in without thinking and struck the vampire in her heart, the only certain way to kill them.
The Fiancé reached for the Prince, but his blue eyes glowed, eerie and ethereal. He recoiled at the coming sunlight and fled.
The Fiancé slaughtered every evil man that raised their sword on her would-be family. But it did not matter. Her beloved was a vampire, doomed to skulk in the night and feast on the blood of the living.
Still a marginally better life than the Chantry, though.
***
"Rivaini," Varric put the papers down and chuckled. "I would refrain from social commentary."
"It adds flavor to the text," retorted Isabela. "It's flavor text!"
"Uh huh. Why are you writing about Choir Boy, anyway?"
"No offense, Varric, but if I read one more chapter of 'friend fiction' about Aveline and Donnic I'm going to vomit. I wanted to do something different. I'm in a supernatural mood, and he fits the bill quite nicely. Besides, he’s a friend, too…he can never EVER see this, though."
"We're talking about the same Sebastian, right?"
"Varric,” Isabela groaned, shaking her head. “not this again. You're so caught up on him not being 'exciting' enough, you completely overlook the fact that he's gorgeous."
“Is the vampire that bit him supposed to be Elthina? Is vampirism a metaphor for something?”
“It’s just exposition, Varric, don’t get stuck on that.”
"And is the fiancé supposed to be Hawke? Why her? It’s not as though they're together or anything."
Isabela paused. "Just keep reading."
"Rivaini, are you not telling me something?"
"Keep reading!"
"Fine, fine..."
***
Hawke's steps were feather light in the Harriman hall. She followed refracted moonlight through a path of broken windows, stepping over the shards meshed into the carpet. Torn tapestries and paintings hung crooked on the walls. The eyes were torn out in every portrait, the jagged ridges of the rip like animal's claws against tender flesh. Clearly vampirism blocked his ability to be subtle.
As she walked further in, the air became thicker with the heavy musk of fresh blood. A smell she was already familiar with as a soldier, or even just as a citizen in Kirkwall, and now, as a vampire hunter. No longer splats and spurts, but rivers, wading in the smell of it. Not blood spilled through misunderstandings and mistakes, but with precise intent. Almost a ceremony to it.
She heard steps at the end of the hall, and took a breath. Her grip tight on the hilt of her silvered sword. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, hoping the cold night air might harden her hammering heart. It was to no avail; she was to kill the man she loved, in order to save his soul, if there were even a soul left to save. There was nothing that would make it easier. There was only the deed.
She threw the doors open, revealing an ornate washroom. White walls, high pillars, marble tiles, all polished and pristine. But the bath itself was filled to the brim with blood. Figures approached the pools, carrying more jugs of it, their eyes glassy white and utterly vacant. They paid no mind to Hawke; they merely did their task of pouring blood into the pool and circle back for more.
But Sebastian saw her immediately. He lounged at the end of the pool, a swirling glass in hand.
Hawke flinched, feeling her soul stripped bare, with his eyes on her. Each time she saw him as a vampire, it twanged at her heart, as painful as it was the first time. The last time that she saw him alive, his skin was drained and sallow, eyes dim. But as a vampire, his dark bronze skin seemed to glow with youthful vigor, and his dark brown hair, slick with blood, was thick and lustrous. His eyes were that same intense, shimmering shade of blue.
"My love," he mewed, his voice as velvety as ever. "You’ve finally arrived. Care to join me? There's plenty of room."
Hawke sneered, "Bathing in and drinking blood? That's excessive, even for you."
"That's not fair," he pouted. "There's some wine mixed in. I think. Here, love, I’ll fetch you some. Flora!"
Before the name fully left his lips, a woman floated across the tile, the ends of her dress—the puff-shouldered and intricately patterned remains of a noblewoman’s garb, now greyed and tattered—fluttering at her feet. Her eyes were fogged, vacant marbles on an equally blank board of a face. Her hair was a mop of thin, dry wheat. She came with an empty glass and a full pitcher. She gracefully poured one for Hawke and refilled Sebastian’s, before withdrawing back to the shadows, as if her steps were on rails.
Hawke shook her head. "Flora Harriman? You kept her alive?"
"Aha, 'alive', that's debatable," Sebastian chuckled. "But I'm no philosopher. All I know is they remain under my control, then they drop once I've drunk all their blood."
"And you know this because?"
"That's what happened with her brother," he said, fishing in the pool until he lifted a man's head from underneath, by the ends of his hair, as casually as lifting a sack of meat, while he continued to sip wine. He held the head long enough for Hawke to see the face of Brett Harriman--bloated with blood from the pool like a fleshy sponge, eyes rolled over in their sockets--before dropping him back.
"So, you've exacted revenge on the Harrimans," said Hawke. "Does that bring you any peace?"
"I feel a lot better, if that's what you mean. You certainly took your time tracking me down, you must have known I would come for them."
Hawke looked into the wine, seeing her tired eyes in its burgundy reflection. "I did know, but I had no intent on saving them. I shed no tears for any of them, I'm glad they're dead. They took you from me."
"I'm glad you understand. You were the only one that ever did."
"But what comes next?"
"Oh, the Harrimans were the first to act, but they were just one of several families looking to dethrone my own, in whatever way they saw fit. They should keep me fed for quite some time."
"At some point, you’ll run out, and you’ll turn to innocent people.”
“You were always cynical, my darling. You don’t think there will always be a corrupt guard, a greedy tax collector, an overzealous templar?”
Sebastian finished his wine, his hand trembled, his nails jutting into claws. “It’s not as though I intend to slaughter entire families, in a single night.” His eyes pulsed, the ridges of his nose deepened, gnashed teeth turned to fangs. His burr boiled. “Without care, without discrimination. From servants to children. No, what sort of monster would do that?”
The glass in his hand shattered.
“I’m sorry, Sebastian,” said Hawke. “I’m sorry they did that to you. You didn’t deserve it.”
His anger subsided, the ridges and sharp things retraced, sinking into a normal, human-like face. “No, I didn’t.”
“But you know why I’m here. It’s been fun, this chase, this dance of ours. But it has to end. I must kill you, while there’s still some Sebastian left in there.”
“I’ve a counter proposal,” Sebastian said smoothly, rubbing the blood from the glass between his fingers. “I bite you, give you my blood. We spend eternity together as vampires, and a piece of the old Sebastian lives forever.”
Hawke winced. “Sebastian, I… I couldn’t possibly.”
Sebastian cocked his head, and smiled a lopsided smile, fangs glinting. “Why the hesitation, then? You still want to be with me, don’t you?”
“I wanted to be with the old Sebastian. A man of passion, of love and faith.”
“I am still all those things. What is love, if not an act of faith? Faith that we will love each other, no matter how we change, who we become. Faith that that person will always be worthy of that love.”
Hawke threw the wine down her throat. “You’re right. I can’t deny my feelings for you remain, but I cannot simply submit to this. So, I propose this. One last fight, to first blood. If I win, my sword finds your heart, and I live with your memory. If you win, you turn me, and we live together as creatures of the night, until the end of time.”
“I accept your terms. If anyone is going to kill me, I would want it to be you.” He rose from the bath, not a towel in sight. Droplets of blood slipped down his sinewy form. He ran his hands through his hair, exposing the taut muscles of his arms. “You’ll permit me to change first, won’t you? Of course, if I have my way, you’ll be joining me here soon enough.”
“I,” she froze, unable to look away. “It’s… not as though I’m in a hurry to fight you. It’s not as though I want… this.”
Her words tumbled softly from her lips, her legs wobbled, as she watched the blood slide down the slope of his slim waist, resting on the divot of his hips, before falling onto his defined, muscled thighs.
***
“Rivaini,” Varric slapped the papers down on the table and groaned. “Should I be concerned here? You’re taking ‘bloodlust’ to a whole new level.”
Isabela raised a brow. “It’s the blood you’re worried about, is it? So, you admit Sebastian is attractive?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Trust me, this is part of the allure. I’m just giving the people what they want.”
“What people? This is friend fiction!”
“Me and Fenris, that’s what people.”
“Fenris likes friend fiction?”
“Well, he likes mine, anyway. Now are you going to finish or not?”
“All right, all right…”
***
Hawke waited in the Harriman’s ballroom, soaking in moonlight. She looked at her reflection in the sheen of her unsheathed sword, one last attempt to steel herself.
The doors from the top of the stairs flung open, and Sebastian emerged. He wore black leather trousers and flowing white blouse, practically painted on his slender form, the collar left wide open, though Hawke's view of his chest was blocked by the strap of his quiver.
"You'll have to forgive me," he said, twirling an arrow in deft, sharpened fingers. "It's been a while since I've used this. How many arrows to the heart can a human take?"
"You have to hit me first, sweetheart," she answered.
"Aha, fair enough, darling."
The bowstring snapped, a flicker like lightning. Hawke rolled to her side and dodged it. She raced for the stairs but a second arrow came to meet her. She made a sharp turn in the other direction.
"You truly are out of practice," said Hawke between harsh breaths. "The old Sebastian never missed."
"I had forgotten how fun this is. See? This is why I need you at my side." The third arrow was a sloppy misfire, bouncing off the wall as Hawke finally reached the stairs. She closed the distance with a wide, silver arc. Sebastian leaped back, the tip of her sword grazing his shirt. "But I've gotten over my fear of close combat."
When he stepped forward to counter, the bow dropped, and the ridges reformed on the bridge of his nose. That eerie blue devouring the white of his eyes as they swelled.
His fingers elongated and sharpened at the tips. He lunged, a wide swipe of his claws. Hawke deftly ducked, but the second swipe came just as swift and hungry, knocking her off balance and flinging her over the stairway.
She tumbled to the floor, but Sebastian leapt down to meet her. She planted her stance and watched for his lunge. She swung her sword in the wide opening of his arms, but even as a human, he was the more agile one, dancing around her blade. Frustrated, Hawke closed the distance again with a hard thrust. He moved his head quickly from her blow, but she took the opening to pound her foot into his chest and knock him down.
The blow made him yelp and fall to his back. She stood over him, her presence heavy hovering, the tip of her sword aligned with his naked, heaving heart.
The beastly, bat-like features slowly withdrew again as he panted, though his hungry smirk remained. His eyes shrunk, the whites of them returned, the blues softened, ever fixed on her. "I do love it when you're on top."
"I have to end this," she panted, tears welling in her eyes. "I don't want to, but I must."
She raised her sword and closed her eyes so that she would not see the love and adoration fade from Sebastian's eyes. But in that moment of quiet came a soft grumbling, then footsteps from the other direction.
Hawke paused but knew this deed must be done before dealing with any intrusions. Her sword came down but its journey jerked, as clammy hands took her shoulders.
"Unhand me!" she shouted, taking the hands that reached for her, and flinging it across the floor. She watched an older woman in a torn dress tumble across the floor. Though her form was frail, she bounced to her feet like an eager animal. Wide gashes and tears were painted all over, the surfaces boiling with black rotted flesh. Though her face was drained and gaunt, her eyes flared with anger, as if a single flame of hatred was all that kept her body moving. Her mouth opened, but only dry, raspy, incomprehensible curses crossed her lips.
“Johane Harriman,” said Sebastian as he returned to his feet, the edges and beastly form emerging again. “I had already spilled her entrails and eaten her vile heart.”
Hawke clenched the handle of her sword. “If she still has blood inside her,” she said through gritted teeth, the sight of the Harriman Matriarch who had plotted the deaths of her love and his family, set fire to her blood. “I shall gladly relieve her of it.”
As Johane mumbled, a circle of purple light formed across the ballroom, details etched on the tile with every slurred syllable. She waved a bony hand, and the light pulsed.
Sebastian howled and collapsed in pain, his beastly features flaring, muscles twitching. He tried to stand, but was gripped with convulsions, the light scratching into his skin, beads of blood bursting.
The pain shot up from Hawke's feet, climbing up her legs, gnawing at the skin along her back. With a few moments before the pain overtook her, she lunged her sword into the floor, and her eyes flared blue.
"Silence," she declared. "You're not the only one with tricks, Lady Harriman."
She twisted the sword and blue light poured along the blade and flooded to each branch of the hexing spell, erasing every line.
Free from the Hex's burning grasp, Hawke lifted her sword and swung at Johane. A wide arc, a spark of silver in the night, and her head came clean off, tumbling across the ballroom floor, the last of her blood trailing on the tile.
Hawke turned back to Sebastian, still struggling to stand.
She sighed. "Nobles will resort to anything, won't they, just to get a sliver of power. From hiring mercenaries to consorting with demons."
She paused, lifting her sword to clean the blade of vile blood. As the last came off, she squeezed her hand against the edge. The sharpness came through her cloth, slicing her palm open. She winced at the pain. “Even your own family. They didn’t give you the love you deserved, it’s not right that you should be deprived of it. They disapproved of me, said my blood wasn’t good enough. But it is.”
She went to Sebastian's side, bending over to cradle his face. "They were so cruel. You did not deserve any of this."
He leaned into her face, the beastly edges remained, grunts of pain.
"Ah," she said, showing her bloody palm. "First blood. You must have gotten me and I didn't even realize. Looks like you win."
Sebastian’s wide blue eyes stared at her for a while, studying the sincerity in her face. "You could never be the monster they are. And you should not be made to suffer for what was done to you. From now on, you'll have me looking out for you. Forever."
He licked her palm, a low moan as his vigor slowly returned, then he ran his fangs along his own hand and offered it to Hawke. She kissed the inside of his palm, then ran her tongue along the tooth marks. When she reached the very end of his finger, she sealed it with a kiss at the very tip, letting his blood course through her with a slow swallow.
"Oh darling," he said. "Nothing will keep us apart any longer. Not politics, not nobles. Not death."
Hawke's sword clanged against the tile. Sebastian wrung one arm against her waist, and cradled her head with the other.
"Nothing," she cooed into his ear, flipping stray hair away so her neck was bare.
He buried his head into the nape and bit down. She gasped as he entered, her legs contorting as his venom surged throughout her body. One hand curled against his back and the other balled a fist in his hair on the back of his scalp, desperate to anchor herself as the change overtook her, making her body shake, moans dripping from both of them.
He took his fill and lowered her head. Her dark eyes grew, ridges form on her face as she gasped with ecstasy, licking her new sharp teeth. She pulled him in for a famished kiss, her tongue flicking against the walls of his mouth, both their lips glazed with blood.
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it as much as I did,” said Sebastian, a lopsided, smacking grin as he observed his work. “Now, about that bath…”
***
“Isn’t this a little anticlimactic?” said Varric. “I thought for sure Hawke would kill him. Or maybe her sword would find his heart just as Sebastian bites her, cursing her to live as a vampire without him.”
“That’s grim, Varric,” said Isabela. “I think my version is very sweet. After so many people tried to keep them apart, they’re finally able to just be together.”
“Yeah, ‘sweet’, as they eat nobles and have sex in the blood of their victims?”
“Exactly!”
“Oh, Rivani, you and I just have very different ideas of romance.”
“Well, Merrill was much more receptive to it. She even gave me notes.”
Varric made a double-take. “Daisy too?”