Knight's Bloom - 11 - Courting Danger

The gala ballroom was a swirling tumult of lights, music and people. Attendees were engaged in an interesting dichotomy of activities. Some were fully engaged in the social aspects of the gala, dancing, chatting, flirting, drinking, which gave the room a shiny, exultant feeling. But subtly interwoven with the gaiety were darker, more devious machinations, as the powerful schemed and politicked. It was here that the final maneuvers of the week's careful dealings were taking place.

Many pairs of eyes noted Hawke's arrival with the Prince, setting off a new round of gossip and causing more than a few resentful glares to be directed at her. As Sebastian led her into the room, she searched the crowd for the tall figure of the Knight-Commander but couldn't see him among the attendees before she was surrounded.

Moving through the crowd on Sebastian's arm, she found it a bit overwhelming to see the Prince in his element. She knew that he had been born to this, but experiencing it was quite a bit different. While she blithely handed out pleasantries and welcomes, Sebastian masterfully kept her moving so that no one could monopolize her so early in the evening. With a warm hand at the small of her back or lightly holding her hand where it lay on his arm, he kept close to her side. He introduced to her to important people she hadn't yet met, supplied names when she faltered, and effortlessly charmed the insolent and over-inquisitive. His calming presence buoyed her confidence but she still had to work hard not to blush when he would whisper to her about some noble or other and his lips would inadvertently brush against her ear.

Eventually he was drawn from her side with a murmured apology, so she took the opportunity to work her way free of the crowd and try to recover her equilibrium after the full force of the Prince's attentions. While she waited for her flushed cheeks to cool down, she saw Aveline standing at the edge of the room, dressed regally in her guard-captain uniform and watching the room with a careful eye.

"Aveline, I'm sorry you have to work instead of enjoying yourself tonight," Hawke said as she approached the guardswoman.

Aveline looked puzzled. "Why? You have to work, too."

"True," Hawke said with a sigh, "but at least I get to wear a pretty dress."

"Hawke, even if I were off-duty I'd probably still be wearing my armor to an event like this," Aveline replied dryly. "I'd be more comfortable and feel safer with these vultures circling." She then fingered the edge of Hawke's dress appreciatively. "It is pretty though."

"Only thanks to Varric, my guardian angel," she admitted.

"Of course, Hawke, what would you do without me?" Varric said from behind her as he walked up to join them. He was magnificently dressed, for once wearing the guise of the high-ranking merchants' guild official that he was.

"Well, thank you. As you had surmised, this aspect of the event had completely slipped my mind."

Varric sized her up. "You do clean up nice. So far it seems to be worth it. I just hope I get to see the results of my little experiment."

"Experiment?"

"Ah, right on cue," Varric said softly, looking past Hawke.

She turned around to see that Cullen had just arrived. He was wearing light armor that was very similar to the armor he had once ruined during the scuffle in front her house. The breastplate was smaller and more streamlined than the standard issue one he had been wearing of late. It was tightly fitted over an intricately woven chain mail that glittered in the dancing lights of the ballroom. His usual Templar sash and skirting were also more ornate and seemingly less cumbersome than normal. It occurred to Hawke that the lighter armor made sense for a ball, and the mischievous idea took hold of her that somehow she had to talk him into dancing with her.

He had a forbidding look on his face as he strode through the crowd, causing people to quickly melt out of his path. She was wondering what might have happened to make him cross, when he saw her standing with Varric and Aveline.

His expression flipped through so many emotions in a short space of time, she wasn't sure she could really identify them all. When he first caught sight of her, he stopped in his tracks, relief clear on his face. As he continued to stare at her, the expression changed to something like wonder, his eyes running over the new dress. Then he seemed to recall himself and strode swiftly to her side with a look of annoyance.

"Hawke, I sent a detachment to your house to escort you here safely, and they tell me instead that no one was there. Please do not tell me that you came here alone again!"

Bewildered by his attitude, she blurted, "No, I didn't! Sebastian escorted me."

She caught a flash of anger in his eyes before he quickly schooled his expression. "Good," he said at last, "I'm glad you were well-attended. I would have . . ." He trailed off, seeming to reconsider what he was going to say. "I'm afraid I need to check on some of my men. I'm glad that you arrived safely." Then he strode off again.

Hawke sighed, giving her friends an apologetic smile, and then moved to follow him.

As she walked away, she thought she heard Varric chuckle and say, "And let the experiment begin . . ."

She had a hard time catching up to Cullen, so she called out, "Will you please stop running away from me! I have no chance of overtaking you while wearing these foolish shoes."

He finally stopped, turning back to her with an expression that was carefully neutral. "I am not running away."

"Would it make you feel better if I said thank you for sending an escort for me?" she asked lightly, wearing a tentative smile.

"There is no need, Hawke. I was only worried for a moment, since I was not sure if something untoward might have happened. Now I know that I need not have bothered," he finished somewhat coldly.

She flinched at his last comment, not sure how to respond.

Perhaps realizing that he was being a bit harsh, his face softened and he added, "You look beautiful tonight."

She blushed a bright red. "Th— thank you. Luckily Varric had enough sense to make sure I had something to wear, as I had nothing."

"Then, I am glad that Varric protected us from the distressful sight of the Viscountess coming to the gala undressed." He smiled, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, the night is still young," she retorted glibly. She gave him an apprising look. "So, Knight-Commander Cullen, I assume you'll save me a dance?"

Now it was his turn to flush, as he stammered, "D- dance? Me? Hardly, Hawke. I don't think it's quite appropriate for me to do that here."

"I can imagine few other places where it would be more appropriate, Cullen. Of course you'll dance with me. Just once!"

"Hawke, no," he said in a quelling voice.

"Yes," she insisted.

"No."

"Fine, for now," she fumed. "But, I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Hawke," a smooth voice said behind her.

Hawke turned to see Sebastian had found her again. He stood a respectful distance away, but he could not have avoided overhearing their conversation. "I was hoping I might have this first dance, Your Excellency." He gave her a brief bow, followed by a devastating smile.

A little irritated at the interruption, she turned back to see that Cullen had slipped away again. She had to bite down on a particularly unsavory curse that rose to her lips, before turning back to Sebastian. She gave him a crooked smile and took his proffered hand.

Dancing with Sebastian, she had to work initially to recall all the steps, but luckily his grace and natural athleticism made him an excellent lead. She was again overcome by the sheer presence of Sebastian the Prince, feeling her blood stir from his close proximity while he elegantly led her through the complicated figures. His long fingers, strong from his years of drawing a bow, firmly guided her and yet were surprisingly gentle where he held her hands or her waist. They spoke very little but instead watched each other with measuring eyes. As she stepped through the intricate movements that spun her around Sebastian, she felt like the dance itself mimicked her relationship with him over the years: spinning in sedate circles at a respectful, arms-length distance while simmering with sexual tension.

"So, Excellency, how are you enjoying your first gala ball?" he asked as the measure drew him up just a step behind her, one hand on her waist and the other holding her hand.

"So far, I am actually enjoying it more than I expected. I've had quite the chaperone guiding me," she said with a smile.

"Chaperone? Why does that make me sound like I should be standing behind you and glowering forbiddingly at anyone who asks you to dance?"

She chuckled, thinking that was actually an apt description. "You have a better word in mind?"

"Hmm, that's quite the opening," he murmured. "I suppose I would suggest friend. Escort. Mmm, admirer?" He gave her sidelong glance to gauge her reaction.

She felt herself blush again. Indeed, now that Sebastian was actually flirting with her, she was starting to feel a bit outmatched. The dance then separated them as she spun away with another partner before returning to his side.

He gave her an appraising look. "Another word: suitor. You know, Hawke, we've spoken jokingly in the past about the strength of an alliance between Starkhaven and Kirkwall. But now we could make that a reality."

She felt her heart thud in her chest again and suddenly felt like prey that had finally been run to ground. "That's . . . that's true, Sebastian."

He glanced at her again, still appraising, but didn't say anything else until the dance came to an end. He bowed over hand. "Just think on it, Marian." He kissed her knuckles and then reluctantly let her go.

After that, she had a hard time escaping the dance floor, as noble after noble then sought her hand for a dance. She did, however, accomplish several useful discussions during those long, stately dances. Of her partners, Sebastian was the only one not trying to wring some concession from her—except for the obvious one.

It was during her dance with the Teyrn of Ostwick that she made a disturbing discovery.

She was trying to deflect his attempts to secure some exclusive shipping rights with Kirkwall by starting an entreaty of her own. "I'm afraid we didn't get a chance to speak during the assembly yesterday about Ostwick's Circle mages. We've been having some difficulty communicating with them about the possibility of transferring some of their mages to the Kirkwall Circle. I was wondering if you might have any insights to share with us."

He blanched at her question and then looked around cautiously, like he did not want to be overhead. "I might. I'm afraid there is some . . . unrest among the mages there," he said quietly.

Frustratingly, the dance then spun her away, requiring that she wait to continue her questions.

"Unrest? Of what kind?" she asked when she finally returned to his side.

"Apparently similar to the kind you had here before you and the Templars invoked the Right of Annulment and purged the Gallows." He looked around again. "Word of the events here is spreading and the mages are outraged. I'm not surprised you've had no response. The Circle and the Templars there have their hands full. We're not sure yet if we need to get involved. And it's not just us. I heard something similar might be happening at Ansburg."

She was shocked as she spun away again, trying to process this revelation. It had never occurred to her that what happened in Kirkwall could have such far reaching consequences. In addition, it seemed again that some of the details were wrong. They hadn't actually used the Right of Annulment, which was why they had any mages left at all.

Joining hands again with the Teyrn, she tried to learn more, but he seemed reluctant to discuss the topic any further.

As the dance ended, she couldn't leave the dance floor quickly enough, stumbling through several half-polite refusals in her haste to escape. She moved to the edge of the room, trying to find a private spot to think.

"Viscountess Hawke!"

Hawke stiffened at the interception but relaxed when she saw it was First Enchanter Tilda.

Cullen had felt it important for the Circle to become a more vital part of the city, so he had permitted Tilda and several of her senior enchanters to join in the festivities.

"First Enchanter. Are you enjoying the gala?"

"Actually, I am, Excellency. It's wonderful to see such gaiety in Kirkwall again. Perhaps you should hold events like this more often?"

Hawke laughed. "I think that will have to wait until we've recovered from planning this one. How are things at the Circle Tower?"

"Quite well. Our numbers have started to grow slightly as we take in new apprentices. I've still been unable to communicate, however, with the Circles at Ostwick and Ansburg. I understand from the Knight-Commander that you might have been looking into that?"

She laughed humorlessly at the ironic timing of Tilda's question. "You know, I've still been largely unsuccessful," she evaded. "The Teyrn of Ostwick thinks there might be some extenuating circumstances, but that they should resolve themselves soon. I'll let you know if I learn anything that will be more helpful."

Hawke hoped her smile looked sincere. Until she knew what was really going on in Ostwick, and what possible role her own actions might have played, she didn't want to foster more disquiet. Or blame.

Trying to change the subject, Hawke said, "You know, I've been wondering how your negotiations went regarding in-person meetings between the Circle mages and their families."

"The Knight-Commander has yielded, and the first meetings have just begun. It's really a minor change, but a necessary one." She paused. "You know, Hawke, there is something else I have wanted to discuss with you. Now is not the time, but if you wouldn't mind coming by the Tower for a chat, I would value your thoughts on a new . . . project we're considering."

"I'd be delighted, Tilda. Although, as I've mentioned to Cullen, I'm not sure how much my own training, or rather lack thereof, will be of use to you."

"Not to worry, Hawke. I am most interested in your thoughts and opinions, not your . . . history, as it were. We can talk more when you come by." She looked around briefly and then said more softly, "I'm also curious to hear more about what is going on with the Grand Cleric. I understand she has been giving you some trouble?"

"Trouble is one word for it," Hawke grumbled.

"Is she here tonight? I don't think I've seen her."

"No, I believe she's in seclusion, preparing for her first Chant tomorrow. Tilda, you should probably know that she doesn't seem to be particularly, er, mage-friendly. Although, as Cullen says, I could just be over-interpreting her negative reaction to me personally." She grimaced. "In all seriousness, we really don't know much. But, it may be prudent for you to be a bit . . . wary of her. Just in case."

"Thank you for your candor, Hawke. Hmm, I hope we haven't gone from one extreme, of Elthina avoiding any interference with the Circle, to the other," Tilda said thoughtfully. She nodded her head and then moved on.

Tilda's comment weighed on Hawke as she realized that it was a very real concern.

Lost in thought, she let her eyes wander aimlessly around the room. Then suddenly her body went still, perceiving the danger before her eyes had fully focused on the cold silver eyes scrutinizing her from the crowd on the far side of the room. The eyes bored into hers for the space of several breaths and then, as suddenly, slipped back into the mass of people.

Senses sharpened in response to the seeming threat, she immediately strode across the room in search of the man. The sighting was so brief she wasn't sure if she might have just imagined it, but her racing heartbeat told a different tale. She stalked the edges of the room, continuing to search, but to no avail. It seemed that the silver-eyed man had returned and then disappeared again.

She related the sighting to Aveline who also increased her vigilance.

"In some sense it's comforting that at least we know he is in Kirkwall again," Aveline pointed out. "Don't worry, Hawke. We will find him. But I don't want you to worry about it anymore tonight. The guard and the Templars have the Keep well safeguarded."

"Have you seen Cullen anywhere?" Hawke asked, chewing on her lower lip.

Aveline thought for a moment. "To be honest, I haven't. But, find Sebastian and you know that's where he won't be." Aveline's eyes sparkled mischievously.

"Ah, don't remind me," Hawke groaned as she walked away.

Unable to help herself, Hawke continued a haphazard search of the shadowy corners of the ballroom for the silver-eyed man. Surprisingly, this led her straight to Cullen.

He was standing alone in the shadows of one of the more distant balconies. The large balcony was bathed in the light of the full moon which gave it a surreal appearance. He was looking out over the city lights, the distant look in his eye suggesting that he had chosen this out of the way place for some quiet contemplation. Either that or he was hiding, but she couldn't imagine from what.

Her agitation over the silver-eyed man and the news from Ostwick receded as she instead puzzled over what he was doing out there. Then she heard the distant strains of a waltz starting inside and suddenly she found herself fixated on an entirely different but much more immediate mission.

Cullen had hoped the tranquility of the night sky would help settle some of his inner turmoil. He was still surprised at the turbulence of his emotions since the lieutenant had reported Hawke's absence from her estate earlier this evening. The thought that something might have happened to her had driven him to distraction. Then when he had seen her safe, his relief had been quickly superseded by another type of distraction.

Maker's breath, where did she get that dress? Dark and fathomless like the night sky, it seemed to invite him to explore every impossible curve as it skimmed around her lithe figure. He almost didn't trust himself to look at her wearing it, feeling his pulse begin to race and a slow heat growing inside him. Unfortunately, he also couldn't seem to tear his eyes from her—even when she had been swept onto the dance floor by Vael. Watching the Prince manhandle her had finally been too much for Cullen, so he had fled the room in order to check in with the outer guard.

When he returned, he saw that she was still dancing and was being passed like a trophy from one aristocratic set of arms to the next. His first instinct was to try to rescue her from that ignominious duty, knowing how it must grate on her to have to play the polite politician. But then she would probably browbeat him into dancing with her and this was something he really wanted to avoid. So instead he had retreated to this quiet corner.

He did know how to dance and actually wasn't too bad at it. However, the thought of engaging in something so . . . personal with Hawke, and in front of so many people, seemed imprudent. Plus there is that dress— He immediately stopped this line of thought.

His friendship with Hawke was of vital importance to him, and he was beginning to realize that anything that invited prying eyes and opinions into their privacy was ill-advised. Apparently the Prince felt no similar compunction.

Thinking about Vael sparked his annoyance again. The man clearly had designs on Hawke. Cullen dourly presumed that the Prince was now in need of a Princess. What bothered him most was that he didn't know how Hawke might view this presentment. He wondered that, if she was so close with the Prince, then why hadn't she talked about him more. He ignored the pang he felt imagining Hawke doing just that.

He looked again at the night sky, this time blocking out comparisons to Hawke's dress and focusing instead on its infinite horizons. Unbidden, a memory rose up. "It's just so vast and so . . . indescribably magnificent. It helps me put things in perspective and feel for a moment like the Maker is closer than we might think." He smiled to himself, trying again to take Hawke's advice to heart and just relax.

He was feeling centered again when the cause of his distress suddenly intruded on his thoughts.

"There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you. You disappeared!" Hawke chided.

He spun around, groaning inwardly as the dress was still as alluring as he had remembered. He tried unsuccessfully to avert his eyes and stumbled into an explanation.

"You were otherwise engaged. And, I . . . I had some . . . arrangements to check." He cleared his throat. "Besides, you seemed to be in good hands," he added bitterly.

A gleam entered her eye as she tilted her head to the side, listening. That drew his attention to the music; a waltz, if he was not mistaken.

"I still require that dance. This is the one I want."

"It's not appropriate for me to be dancing here," he repeated, but with much less certainty than before.

"Cullen, it's a ball! I've even seen the Knight-Captain stand up. Surely you can indulge me just this once. It's one dance."

Dancing was already a bad idea, but something as intimate as a waltz was worse. It was danced often in Orlais and he had certainly learned it, but it was still considered to be somewhat daring in Ferelden and the Free Marches. Taking her in his arms was not something he wanted to do in public. Especially in that dress.

Instead he said, "I just don't want to draw such attention to us. Every eye is on you tonight. And rightly so. But I don't think I want to share in that spotlight."

Not to be deterred, she stepped so close to him that the hem of her dress brushed against his legs and the faint fragrance of lavender surrounded him. "Well then, what if we're not in the spotlight?" she murmured.

Her eyes glittered through the shadows that danced across her face. Too late he saw the danger. She took his hands and slid one around her waist. He immediately froze and for a split-second considered refusing. But when she smiled up at him from the circle of his arms, his resistance crumbled.

He let out the breath he had been holding and then, almost reflexively, wrapped his arm more tightly around her waist, drawing her close to him. He took another deep breath, tantalizingly imbued with lavender, and started to spin her across the moonlit balcony.

It had been a long time since he had last danced, but the skill came back to him easily enough. Hawke was delightfully light on her feet and she responded nimbly to his gentle direction. He found it strangely exhilarating being completely in control of their movements, as he so often was not with this headstrong woman. Their steps quickly synchronized and soon they were effortlessly gliding through the shadows.

This allowed his attention to wander to his growing awareness of her. The feel of her small hand cupped in his. The narrow span of her waist. The whisper of her full skirts playing counterpoint to his Templar's jangle. The intimate smile on her lips every time their eyes met. The gossamer touch of her dress where his hand rested against her back. He was regretting the choice to wear armor, wishing that he could better feel her pressed against him. Even so, he was sensitively aware of how well she fit in his arms and moved to his touch.

Up close the dress was every bit as dangerous as he had expected. It left little to the imagination, yet his hands still yearned to learn its secrets for themselves. In an effort to rein in these impulses, he focused instead on her eyes. Normally so direct and candid, suddenly their grey depths were limitless and beguiling in the moonlight. As her eyes drew him in, he quickly realized this was another losing battle.

The next thing he knew, he was gazing at her fatuously, while his mind vaguely rationalized that surrender was the practical thing to do.

When the dance started to come to an end he felt a sharp stab of dismay at the prospect of letting her go. It was then that he finally came to a rather obvious conclusion about Marian Hawke.

We are not friends.

He wasn't sure where he had gotten the delusion that they ever could be, but it was clear to him now that they had stopped being friends months ago. And, trying to pretend now that they were was surely going to drive him mad.

They came to a slow stop as the distant music ended, no longer dancing but not letting go either. He was reminded of that day on the ledge at the Wounded Coast, where they had sat holding hands without comment or regard for what it meant. A small part of him chided himself for being an idiot to not realize all of this sooner, while the rest of him was more interested in what would happen next.

His hands were afire where they touched her, every nerve tingling. Although they had stopped dancing, his heartbeat was actually increasing its rhythm. Almost of its own volition, his hand on her back slowly drifted upwards, gliding along the bodice of that damnable dress to the bare expanse behind her shoulders. He then felt her heartbeat also quicken. Looking in her eyes again, he saw them darken in intensity just as he heard her breath hitch. Unlike on the ledge that day, tonight they both seemed to be fully aware of where this was going.

So slowly that she would have plenty of time to stop him, he started to close the little distance that remained between them. He captured the hand that he had been holding against his chest and dipped his head toward her. When he finally reached her lips, his touch was whisper light, lips ghosting across hers.

Still astonished that she hadn't pulled away, he began to kiss her in earnest, lips still moving slowly and deliberately. He felt her leaning into the kiss, rising up on her toes to reach him. Perhaps because of this encouragement, desire suddenly overwhelmed him and it was everything he could do not to crush her against him and discover what that dress had been trying to hide.

He was so completely lost in her that he heard the words as if from a far distance.

"So that's where they've gotten to. Heh heh, guess you owe me that sovereign, Aveline."

Then Hawke was jumping back from him, a guilty expression on her flushed face. He looked around and saw that Varric, Aveline and Vael were standing at the entrance to the balcony. Varric smiled broadly, like he had just won the lottery. Aveline looked embarrassed and faintly worried, glancing at Vael. And, Vael. The look he gave Cullen was enigmatic, his expression too tightly controlled to reveal what the Prince thought at the sight of Cullen kissing Hawke.

Kissing Hawke! Maker's Breath. And, in public. Cullen, what were you thinking?

He glanced at Hawke, hoping for some clue of where they now stood and what he should be feeling. She just looked panicked, eyes bouncing between him and Vael. I see, he thought.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, can we help you with something?" He was impressed at how even and business-like he had sounded.

Aveline stumbled through an apology. "We . . . couldn't . . . find Hawke. We were . . . worried."

"Yes, with a potential assassin on the loose and targeting Hawke, one cannot be too careful," Vael said in a cold voice.

Assassin? Cullen immediately looked at Hawke in concern and amazingly saw her cheeks redden even more, all but confirming this assertion. His eyes narrowed. "Hawke?" he said in a tone that somehow conveyed all his surprise, confusion, hurt, and . . . hope that she hadn't deliberately kept this information from him.

"We don't know it's an assassin . . . yet. It could be nothing. We're not worried . . ." Hawke babbled. She glanced at Aveline. "We're not worried," she asserted again.

She looked back at Cullen, having a hard time meeting his eyes. "I didn't want to worry you unnecessarily," she added softly.

I see. He glanced again at Vael, who finally looked at him with only thinly veiled animosity burning from his cold blue eyes.

"A dark, secluded balcony is probably not the best place to protect her when the man has been seen here, in the building, tonight," the Prince declared. Cullen was sure he also detected a degree of smugness from the man since he seemed to know all about this alleged plot.

I see, he repeated to himself again. He was outraged at too many levels to process them all right now. Tamping down the anger flaring up inside him, he put in place his cold commander's façade and fell back on protocol. He turned to Aveline, and snapped, "Guard-Captain, report."

He saw Aveline's eyes widen in shock at his officious pulling of rank, but after a glance for approval at Hawke, she reverted to her soldier's training and began to explain the situation. "The man was seen in the ballroom crowd briefly, but he seems to have fled. He is a known assailant." Cullen raised his eyebrows at this, but let her continue. "But of unknown identity, distinguished by dressing all in black, having unusual silver eyes and tattooed hands. The outer guard are on alert, but he has not been seen going in or out."

"What kind of a threat does he pose?"

Aveline again glanced at Hawke, who seemed temporarily unable to speak. "We don't really know. He's been . . . stalking Hawke for months now. But he has only attacked her once. We still don't know what his motives are."

Hawke finally reacted, wincing at this description of all the things she had apparently been keeping from him. A glance at Vael showed no surprise in that quarter, demonstrating that none of this was news to him. Cullen was only slightly mollified that it seemed Varric also had been excluded from these intelligences.

"Months, Hawke? We could have taken care of this a while ago. You should have said something," Varric said.

At Varric's words, Hawke looked not at the dwarf but at Cullen. "I know," she said softly.

Cullen kept his eyes on Aveline, too angry to look at Hawke. "Has anyone else seen this man? Do we know anything else about him?"

"Um, no . . . and no." More guilty glances at Hawke.

"Have the guard do a sweep search of the grounds and the ballroom. Keep it quiet to avoid raising any undo concern. Continue monitoring anyone who leaves. Then, meet me at the ballroom entrance for further instructions."

She nodded, gave Hawke an apologetic look, and then left to follow Cullen's orders.

Cullen finally turned back to Hawke.

"Cullen . . ." she began in conciliatory voice.

"Not now," he said sharply, raising a finger to cut her off. "Come with me."

He then took her arm and dragged her back into the ballroom. She numbly allowed herself to be led, while Varric and Vael followed behind. Cullen caught Knight-Captain Leon's eye, motioning him over.

"Ser," Leon said, saluting.

"Captain, please take a company and escort the Viscountess back to her estate swiftly and with extreme caution. Secure the premises and remain there until I send further orders." Cullen then looked at Hawke with unyielding eyes. "And, please ensure that the Viscountess stays put. She is not to leave the estate for any reason, even if you have to confine her to her chambers and drain her mana."

Hawke gasped, her eyes shooting daggers at him, while Vael began to loudly protest such treatment of a lady of quality. Hawke laid a hand on the Prince's arm. "It's all right, Sebastian." However, the look of fury she gave Cullen made it clear that Hawke would have words for him about this later.

So be it. So long as she is safe.

She stood with her arms crossed, fuming and glaring at him, until Leon escorted her away with Vael and Varric in tow. She looked back at him once before she left the room, the lines of her body rigid with anger. They held each other's eyes for a moment, and he couldn't help but think of the very different circumstances under which they had done the same thing just minutes earlier. He quickly locked these regrets away with his other emotions to deal with later and then went in search of Aveline to make further arrangements to find this mysterious man that was threatening his Marian.