#rcgueprince

send me  ‘ hc ‘  + a word and i’ll write a headcanon about it regarding my character.

bethany has yearned for a family of her own for a very long time. her parents have always been a testament to love in her eyes, what it means to give up everything to be with the person you love, even if it means being on the run for the rest of their lives. she yearns for love like what her parents had, all-consuming, the kind that would make you want to run away from it all to be with your lover. she has also read many many romances in her life and has fantasized about the fairytale romance and the idyllic homestead.

the sad thing is that she doesn't really believe she deserves it. because as much as she thinks it's beautiful and romantic when her parents did it, she doesn't really think anyone should be willing to do that for her. whoever decides they want to be with her will have to be on the run for the rest of their lives, and any children they potentially have may also be mages, who therefore will have to run forever as well. bethany's greatest source of guilt has always been the feeling that she was a burden and a risk to her family, after they spent their entire lives doing everything possible to protect her from templars. she fears that having a family of her own would be the most selfish thing she could ever do, and that she would once again be making herself a burden to the people she loves.

Nearly a kiss | Accepting

          ━━━ ANOTHER LATE NIGHT IN THE CLINIC. Darktown had long grown quiet save for the Waking Sea's swelling tide against the city's walls. With the lanterns hung above the clinic's door extinguished, the apprentices had shuffled off, back to their squat homes as work became laborsome for their tired fingers. Anders encouraged them to do so, even as he continued to sway on his feet and while away at the various tincture components that kept his hands busy.

          Yet he wasn't alone.

          Sebastian toiled beside him, their work in tandem, each motion followed through by the other ; when one finished peeling leaves, the other ground them in the mortar ━━ Anders would carefully funnel extract into a vial only for Sebastian to combine it with his own readied solution. They were practiced in their silence, even their breaths held in the same moments.

          Eventually, the candles began to gutter, flickering shadowy shapes against the wall as the moon's light cast dimly through the cracks in the walls.

          ❝ This is more than enough for the night, ❞ Anders said with an involuntary yawn, setting aside the ingredients. ❝ You should've left a while ago, it's a long walk to the Chantry. ❞

          Sebastian hummed in agreement, completing the last step he was on before mirroring Anders' step away from the table. He stretched his tired hands, fishing his archer gloves from his pocket and fitting them over his sore fingers.

          Anders caught himself staring, and forced his eyes away. He busied himself with fetching the rogue's bow and quiver, Sebastian just a few steps behind him. The mage handed the foreign objects to him with a pensive frown.

          ❝ You should get in the habit of leaving earlier, ❞ Anders said, watching Sebastian hoist the arrows against his back and fit the bow in his practiced hold. Though there was a sluggishness to the movements that disquieted him.

          ❝ Don't tell me you're worried for my safety now, ❞ Sebastian chuckled.

          Anders glanced to the side, though in the dingy light, the lopsided smile that tugged at his lips was all but invisible.

          ❝ Darktown is dangerous, ❞ Anders said, tone torn between a genuine concern for the laybrother and amusement at his lack of regard for himself. ❝ If you get to chastise me for my own self-neglect then I get to do the same. ❞

          Without thought, Anders reached to smooth a pucker of leather bunched at Sebastian's collar bone, his shirt caught between armor and the sling of his quiver. Though he underestimated how intimate the action was ; his fingers lingered, feeling all of Sebastian freeze beneath his palm. His eyes stayed trained on his own hand as though he could hide the myriad of emotions bubbling inside him even as Sebastian's gaze burned through him.

          ❝ I'll be fine, ❞ Sebastian reassured him, placing his own hand atop Anders'. ❝ There are worse things than a brawl. ❞

          Glancing up at the taller man, Anders couldn't find it in himself to ask what Sebastian weighed against a midnight fight in Darktown ━━ but from how the rogue's face leaned downwards, as though his center of gravity had found itself within Anders' mouth ━━ he could assume.

          And Anders lets it happen ; what else could he do but tip his chin upwards, allow his lips to part with a shaky breath ? For all of their bickering and disagreements, Sebastian was a kind and gentle man who prioritized helping people in a way Anders thought above the Chantry dogma. He was patient and intelligent, if not misguided and a bit of a fool for the Chantry's propaganda. But Anders trusted him ━━ trusted him in the Clinic, trusted him in combat, trusted him to see the truth of the Chantry in time ━━

          ━━ trusted him now, as he tasted Sebastian's breath, just a hair's width from his mouth.

          But instead of closing the distance, Sebastian merely mutters,

          ❝ I should really be going, ❞ as he pulls away.

          Anders swallows, the heat leeching from his face as he nods a few too many times and fumbles for the Clinic's locks.

          Sebastian shifts a step outside, pausing as Anders hesitates to close the door.

          ❝ I ... will see you tomorrow. ❞ Sebastian promises before disappearing into the night.

Idle hands worked over the simple hem of Sebastian’s sleeve, and finally the night air was cooling into something palpable to Rathlein’s skin. He had experienced hotter summers under the unforgiving sun in Hossberg, but there was something about living in a true city that made the heat truly the worst.

Then again the young Prince Vael had been showing him a good time and most of the heat could have been the wine or good company.

tmi tuesday // accepting ( @rcgueprince

     ---”In the beginning, nearly every moment of every day.” the Warden had thought of the other so often it would bleed into his duties; missed opportunities and dropped guards leading to foolish wounds, and almost blatant disregard for his orders. Someone had pulled him aside in the beginning, and somehow, they knew just what plagued the poor boys mind. And he was reminded, rather sternly, that the life he lead before was now GONE. 

     “As time went by it got---easier.” Easier to needlessly throw himself at his work rather than sat in camp with fleeting memories of stolen kisses, and hushed promises. Carver dove into every opportunity afforded to him if it meant he would stay busy. Patrols, training, and often times he was the first to volunteer to travel into the Deep Roads when need be. Because, after all, hard to miss a man you love when the constant threat of death or worse lurked around every corner. 

           CAREFUL HANDS SURVEY  the extent of the bruising, brows knitting together. Slender digits ghost over the deep purple marks, the corner of his lips tugging downwards as he does.

    ❝ I know I am no healer, but I may be able to help with the pain, if you’ll allow me.❞

Cecelia kept her hand in place, her body a little tense from the proximity. She had not really spent much time getting to know him, what with him being a devout Chantry man. Despite that, he had been nothing but kind to her, and that was refreshing.

          ━━━ PICKING OUT GIFTS FOR SATURNALIA WAS A FAIRLY STRAIGHTFORWARD TASK ; though when Hawke had reminded them of their yearly tradition, Anders had, admittedly, forgotten about the Starkhaven Prince who had recently joined their party. He was shocked to find out he had been invited. Was Hawke close to the rogue ? Anders hadn't realized.

          He should've, probably, considering Hawke was a good friend of his and Sebastian had been ... worming his way into his good graces the last few months. He wouldn't say he liked the man, but continuing to deny he was at least a decent person would be akin to delusion. Anders wouldn't pretend to understand why, but Sebastian sacrificed his own meager stipend to aid the Clinic with startling frequency.

          So, he should probably put at least a little thought into what he would give the man for the holiday.

          The Hanged Man was more subdued than usual, everyone sentimental in their holiday cups as the barkeep broke out kegs of the good stuff for once. Anders imbibed only a couple sips of appreciation, not wanting to spoil his mood by tempting the Spirit, within.

          The party sat around their usual large round table and exchanged their gifts in a bid for chaotic attention, each gift an attempt to one up the other in some strange ritual of friendly competition.

          Amongst the rowdiness, Anders reached across the sticky wood to offer Sebastian a plain leather satchel.

          ❝ It's a saddle stitching kit. For your archery gloves. I noticed the leather was fraying. ❞

          His voice is just loud enough to be heard over the disarray, though his tone is dismissive and off the cuff, clearly not wanting to dwell on the moment in the least.

Sebastian should have known better than to tempt fate.

The path to the clinic was one that he could walk with his eyes closed, a fact he is grateful for now. With every staggered step, the pain that reverberates from the wound on his side blurs his vision. Still, Sebastian continues, willing every part of him to keep moving. The lantern light was not too far now, beacons in the night.

It had been foolish, in hindsight, to believe that routine granted him a modicum of safety. He had walked the same paths and knew the people that lingered around corners; for months, he had not had to worry about a mugging or a targeted attack. As the blood stains his chainmail, slipping through the spaces between his fingers and leaving a trail behind him, Sebastian began to understand the mage’s concern about him walking to Hightown alone. A prayer is whispered hoarsely to the heavy silence, the repetition keeping him grounded in reality. He only had to hope that Anders was still awake enough to help.

Sebastian does not so much enter the clinic as he partially collapses into it, leaning against the wall just past the threshold. He attempts to call Anders, but his voice comes out as a broken wheeze,

“Anders, help.”

          ━━━ ANDERS DIDN'T PRAY MUCH ANYMORE ━━ somehow, he had lost his taste for the Maker between all the suffering. A lack of salvation will do that to a man. But still, as habitually as any other routine in the Clinic, he mouthed a silent blessing to whoever listened for Sebastian's safety as the prince walked into the inky blackness of the Darktown night.

          Despite Sebastian's promise that he would take care on his way back to the Chantry, Anders could never fully untie the knot in his stomach until he laid eyes on him the following day. A strange fact ; what did he care for the laybrother so much as to lose sleep ? He was helpful in the Clinic and a stable beneficiary despite his meager stipend ... but if Anders were honest with himself, his feelings ran much deeper than that.

          There were only so many shared afternoons, Sundermount walks, impassioned debates, and moral reflections he could share with a man before something deeply unwanted blossomed in his chest.

          Though he was determined to ignore it ━━ no matter the frequency he caught Sebastian staring at him with a small, private smile, or felt his hands linger on an otherwise casual touch. Any sort of relationship was dangerous now. His duty to the Mages came first, it had to. And Sebastian had his vows.

          This Anders tells himself as he lays burning in bed when something crashes into the Clinic. His adrenaline surges, his hand instinctually wraps around his staff, senses tugging the Fade and warping it in anticipation of self defense.

          He shuffles slowly out of the makeshift bedroom when silence follows the crash, but as he enters the main room of his Clinic, his eyes settle not on a Templar raid, but on the crumbled, half-standing form of Sebastian.

          Anders runs over immediately, heart stuttering with a raw panic that quickly culminates into a practiced calm.

          ❝ Maker, what happened ? ❞ He asks, voice wavering despite himself as he slings one of Sebastian's arms over his shoulders and hobbles the man to one of the examination tables.

          He can feel the wound on his senses, gaping and bloody, pouring Sebastian's life onto the Darktown dirt. Even without looking at it, he can tell the injury is grave.

          Anders takes a moment to flick a handful of sparks at the nearby candleholder with one hand as he helps Sebastian lay upon the table with the other. He cares not for the crimson that stains his steady hands as he pries at the prince's armor, letting it fall unceremoniously. The scent of iron is thick as he pulls back Sebastian's undershirt and reveals the river of blood.

          His movements are mechanical, skilled and quick. Nothing belies the fact of his hollowing stomach or the small part of his mind that spirals with fear. There is no time to question why agony is the feeling that wells at the mere prospect of losing Sebastian ━━ he can only shove that down and hope it gets lost among the rest of his uninterrogated emotions.

          There is no verbal indication that comes as Anders assess the wound. Silently, his fingers staunch the bleeding ; the digits tuck within the gash, getting a sense of its depth as his other hand maneuvers for the gauze squirreled away in the table's drawer. His face creases, mouth lined hard as he mops away the gushing blood. More trickles from between his fingers and it quickly becomes a losing battle.

          ❝ This is going to hurt. ❞ He warns before blue light chases the night away.

          It happens in a flash, a mere second of torment to save Sebastian's life. His hands glow, eyes filled with the light of the Fade as he accelerates Sebastian's healing far beyond what would be comfortable ━━ for either of them. His magic comes hot, both forcing together the severed strands of fascia and cauterizing the superficial dermis enough to stop the bleeding for good.

          The magic drains just as quickly and despite the dizzy wobble of his legs, Anders hovers over the wound, wiping away the remaining blood and prodding at what is left of the gash ; a sizeable hole, but one that is gnarled with an unnaturally healed scar, like an uprooted tree.

          ❝ It'll do, ❞ he sighs, thoughtlessly reaching to grip Sebastian's hand. The assessment is followed with a mumbled, ❝ Thank the Maker, ❞ as he wipes his brow with his forearm, the skin coming back slick with a sheen of sweat.

          Only then in the aftermath does the panic truly hit him. Part of it he's accustomed to ━━ healing Hawke often felt the same ; the possibility of her life being on his hands was a terrifying one that threatened his calm often. But this ... felt different, somehow. His stomach tightened up his throat and despite himself, a tremor shook his core. Senseless, he chastised himself, forcing his eyes to take in the very alive expression of Sebastian's face.

          The man was fine.

          And so what if he wasn't ? Why should he panic so much over losing a laybrother ?