(The Vael family history is very vague, however I’ve taken the liberty of trying to keep as close to cannon as possible. Pretty hard with female!Sebastian, but I digress. Enjoy!)

Bereavement

I. Father’s Lament

“Absolutely not, Goren. I will not allow you to go traipsing across Thedas for some two bit whore.” Father was a cruel, old man. Married to mother at the tender age of sixteen, father was thirty-two at the time, it was little wonder why father’s brutality and language upset mother. Mother didn’t like father, that much was clear to Sebastian, but she still loved him. No matter what father said.

Sometimes Sebastian would hear screaming from mother’s room; breaking glass, Sebastian would sit there and cry. Sometimes moans would sound down the hallway – rough panting, and sticky noises. Sebastian would tip down the hall towards the northern wing of the castle, and peak into mother and father’s bedroom. Child like curiosity setting in; she’d always felt a distinct hardness between her legs.

That excited her in a horrible way.

“Father,” Goren pursed his lips; hands clasped behind his back, “you’re not being fair. Majorette —”

Mother cut him off, “Lady Laurent. Mind your tongue, Goren.” Mother stood to the side. It was a family meeting. Which really meant the time for Sebastian and her brothers to voice their desires – only for them to be cast aside, of course. Father did not believe in such frivolities.

Sebastian had longed for that crimson gown. It would have fit perfectly. She would have been beautiful. Just – perfect.

Goren huffed, “We’re to go to Kirkwall. There’s been some sort of disagreement with Lady Harimann and Mar – Lady Laurent. I believe we could play it towards a political advantage, Father. Though the Harimann’s are old friends of the Vael’s, at the moment, the Laurent family has the upper hand. They’ve invested in a number of trading companies and well renowned shops throughout Thedas. IncludingSailfish Scuttle in Rivain, The Wonder’s of Thedas in Fereldan, and Orzammar’s trading quarter. Lady Laurent specifically asked for me, however I think it would be an excellent opportunity for Corbinian to accompany us, he is the heir to the throne, after all.”

Corbinian was silent through all of this, staring intently at his hands. It wasn’t unusual for Goren to talk over his older brother. Corbinian had always been a quiet man, preferring reclusion as opposed to Goren, who sustained himself on attention. Usually, if Corbinian had anything to say, it would be short and to the point. Sebastian’s oldest brother didn’t believe in “dancing with words” as mother called it. What Corbinian lacked in sociability, he made up for in compassion. Sebastian truly believed that.

Goren, although the middle child, had always been the smarter of the children. Strategy came to Goren easily; he held a certain likeness for politics, and often would he command Starkhaven’s militia, eager to prove himself proper in father’s eyes. He overshadowed Corbinian in almost everything, but Sebastian had no doubt that Goren loved him.

Sebastian stood to the side, listening intently. She’d never been out of Starkhaven; it was an opportunity for her to see different things, meet new people, and generally have fun. For twenty two years, Sebastian had been cooped up in the Eastern wing of the castle; mother did this for Sebastian’s safety, but she knew it wasn’t true. Rarely would she see her brothers, both of which who were now into their late twenties. Very experienced, and very wary of their younger sister. Allowances would be made for family meetings, social occasions and the like, but most of the time, Sebastian would sit in her rooms. Trying to think of a way out of mother’s cage. She loved mother, but Sebastian often wondered why she was so secluded; sectioned off from her brothers. It bothered her, and mother would never directly answer Sebastian’s questions. Always replying with honeyed excuses, never wanting to reveal the actual truth.

Sebastian hated this. 

Assault

“Damn it, Theron! Stop!” Daveth yelled, “you’ll kill the poor sod!”

Theron kept punching, the man’s face was a bloody mess.

“It’s what he did to you!” Theron yelled, eyes angry, face twisted. “Why should I let this shem live, huh? Why should he not pay his dues; we’ve paid ours.”

Because you’re a psychotic elf with no penchant for mercy. And hey, what’s this about being a shem?

He’d say that, but as it happens, Daveth likes his face intact, thank you.

“Just – stop. Let’s go, we don’t need this.” Daveth laid a hand on the elf’s shoulder. “I know you mean well, but my stomach can’t handle this,” he joked – they both knew it was weak. “I think we should just move on.”

Morrigan snorted, “I hardly agree, kill him and be done with it. ‘Tis your fault. He’s already half-dead by your doing, anyway.”

Theron’s face was downright frightening as he spat on the quivering man.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, face dark, “whatever.”