#the way seb keeps begging and mark keeps delaying

[musetta3]

'MOTIVATION' for the one word writing prompt :)

Hi @dreamerlavellan! Thanks for the prompt! Here is ‘Motivation.’

Sebastian buttoned his doublet, wishing he was anyone other than himself. It was his own fault, Sebastian reminded himself. He felt obliged to take the throne, after all; no one had made him pursue it. He could have stayed with the Chantry, dedicated his life to the Maker—

No, he really couldn’t do that. His people needed him, hence why he’d gotten himself into this mess in the first place. Hence why Sebastian was marrying Flora Harimann. His fingers slowed at the very thought of it. Fenris had also questioned his choice.

“Is it really necessary?” He had asked. “Surely you can get by without the Harimanns. Do you truly want to be miserable for the rest of your life? Venhedis, they killed your family, Sebastian. Can’t you choose anyone else?”

For all his worldliness, Fenris was still a romantic who believed in love matches, something that marked him as the commoner he was. Royalty didn’t have the luxury of choosing who to marry; the choice was often made for them, for the sake of the kingdom. It made for a bleak outlook, on matters pertaining to the heart. A flood of doubts continued to fill Sebastian’s mind as he readied himself for his betrothal banquet. He finished his buttons and smoothed his black silk doublet.

He was procrastinating, finding any reason whatsoever to delay the inevitable. Soon, he would be late. Sebastian heaved a sigh and left, feeling more like a man walking to the gallows than one going to a celebration. Fenris and Rana met him in front of the Harimann Estate. They also wore black and silver, the Starkhaven colors.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Fenris asked in a low tone as they approached the door. “There’s still time.”

“Me people need me, ye said it yerself,” Sebastian replied, “I’ll serve the Maker best on the throne; I can help them more from there.” He set his jaw and held his head up high. “If this is the way to do so—”

“It’s one way, not the way,” Fenris replied, holding the door open. “I swear you’ll regret this.”

Sebastian knew his friend was no doubt right; there was literally nothing he could see about this situation that was remotely heartening. He plastered on a brave smile and went inside, Fenris and Rana with him. All through the night, Sebastian couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched, stared at. He looked over his shoulder several times, to find no one.

‘Mercenary,’ a voice hissed at him during the banquet. ‘Selling yerself to the highest bidder for naught but a chair.’ He whipped his head around to the sound, only to remember he stood in a corner. He gripped his wineglass. ‘Ye should have died with us, Sebastian; the wicked lived while the worthy perished.’

Cold sweat beaded on his brow; his breath shallowed. He could practically feel breath on his neck; he fought very hard to keep his composure. ‘Ye sully our good name by binding yerself to murderers—’

“I-I beg yer pardon,” he said, jumping to his feet with a very fragile smile, “but I suddenly feel indisposed; I-I must retire.” He felt as though he was choking; he gripped the hem of his doublet to keep his hands from trembling. Their host was quite surprised.

“But ye’re the guest of honor,” Ser Harimann protested. “Ye cannae leave so soon—”

He couldn’t stay in that room a second longer. Sebastian shot Fenris a silent plea for help and quickly made his goodbyes, hurrying to the front door. Fenris handled the situation beautifully.

“The closeness of the room, no doubt,” Sebastian heard him say. “Kirkwall summer can be so stifling, this time of year. It’s been unseasonably warm, has it not? I can barely breathe, at times, myself.” Sebastian practically ran out the door, sinking onto a bench under a tree. He was gasping for air.

“Ya Sebastian?” Rana’s voice rang out in the street. “Ya Sebastian, where—venhedis, Seb.” All the words in his head were replaced with screams. He stared at her, wide-eyed, while she seated herself beside him.

“Breathe for me,” she said in Orlesian. She placed her hand on his stomach. “Send the air to my hand.” She talked him through the haze of panic enveloping him. She was well-practiced in it, living with Fenris, she said. He often panicked if he woke up and didn’t recognize his surroundings.

Rana saw Sebastian safely home before returning to the banquet. He heaved a sigh and changed for bed, utterly drained. He threw himself onto the mattress with a groan. “Sweet Andraste,” he muttered. “I shudder to think what me wedding’ll be like—”

The room dimmed as the nearly spent candle sputtered. The words died on his tongue when he saw his dead brother glaring at him from the foot of the bed.