Shame

He is good at blending into shadows. Many, many nights of sneaking out of the chantry, in those days it is dangerous now to remember, and his natural instincts, have made stealth second nature to him, and Darktown is so easy to hide in, no matter that he has had to dress differently. The mage works late, the people who come to see him, after all, have no schedule to their illnesses. He is vaguely disgusted by some of the patients he sees the man attend to, although Anders never shows it himself, and Sebastian can't help but feel some admiration for the man, that he would do this, day after day, for nothing but the odd coin these people can spare, cast off clothing, a loaf of bread.

They protect him, he knows that. No Templar would get within fifty paces of this place, unless he had no compunction about slaughtering innocents, and he is certain there are some who wouldn't, but Meredith at least does not let those out on regular patrols in the city.

Still, he is not here to admire him. No matter what he does for these people, he is an apostate, and an abomination, and he will hurt Hawke, if not kill her, if she lets him get close.

When the last of the patients is gone, Anders extinguishes the lamps above the cots and goes into the back room Sebastian knows in which he sleeps. He is gone for a moment, and when he emerges he has changed his shirt and his hair drips moisture which is evaporated with a small puff of magic. The mage ties it back, then rubs his jaw and closes his eyes, seeming to debate something internally before striding out.

Sebastian has a hard time staying out of sight. Anders is naturally paranoid - the man couldn't have been an apostate for as long as he has without it, but Templars aren't as good as Sebastian is, and Sebastian can tell the man is distracted. He hesitates at the steps into Hightown, but after a moment he turns towards her house, and Sebastian knows with even more certainty what is going to happen next.

He should go, now, back to the Chantry. Sleep. Pray. But his feet take a different route, one that he knows well to get to her house, not the way Anders has gone, this will take a little longer, but he still gets there before the mage has entered. Anders is standing at the door, his palms flat against the wood and his head bowed as if in worship. For a moment Sebastian thinks he is using magic, but he isn't. For a minute, two, the man stays that way, before heaving an audible breath and opening the door.

She's left it unlocked for him.

The jealousy that rages in his breast is unworthy of him. That isn't why he's here. She could choose whichever man she wished. She could frequent the Blooming Rose every night, sleep with every woman and man in the city and it wouldn't matter. He is here because the mage is an abomination and he saw the man nearly kill an innocent he had sworn to protect in the grip of a spirit without reason. He is here to protect Hawke.

He is bound by his vows and jealousy is a sin.

No wonder the desire demon saw him as easy prey.

He needs to be inside the house, but he cannot break in. He knows the door is open, but to take advantage of that smacks of the worst kind of hypocrisy, so he knocks, hoping Hawke will not answer, or hoping that she will and prove he was wrong about why the mage is visiting.

It takes a while, but eventually, Bodhan answers the door, dressed for bed. They don't know he is here with her, he thinks.

"Master Sebastian!" he says, evidently delighted. "Please come in!"

"Is Hawke here?"

"I believe the mistress is asleep, Mesere."

"Never mind, Bodhan. I needed to… drop something off for her, if you don't mind?"

"Please, come in. Me and the boy were just going to sleep."

"I can let myself out, Bodhan. Don't let me keep you."

"Thank you Mesere," the dwarf waves him in and pads off to his part of the house. Sebastian stands for a moment, in the foyer, unsure exactly what he is doing - why he is here.

He will leave her a letter, he decides, and moves to her writing desk. As he picks up her quill, however, he hears what he thinks is her voice. He almost goes up to the room, until he hears another voice in response.

He can't move. The quill is still in his hand and he is straining with all of his senses to hear more, even as he knows he should stop, drop the quill, leave, but there is a gasp and then a giggle and then…

He stands there for what feels like eternity. The noises get louder and less restrained. She screams his name but not even he can pretend it's in fear or anger.

He remembers when women did that for him.

He remembers that he has dreamt of her doing that for him.

The quill snaps in two. He drops the pieces on the table, turns on his heel and leaves. He will pray tonight, and come back in the morning. The Maker will show him a way to undo this, make her see reason.

Sweet Andraste I only want her to be safe.

Lying is also a sin.