Chapter Text
Goran’s mocking laughter rang merrily in the gilded hall. He sat proudly on the throne, his hands gripping each armrest as his generous belly shook with his mirth. Sebastian felt his hackles rise, his face flushing crimson.
“Yeh no right to deny me Goran, I am the rightful heir teh the throne. The true Prince of Starkhaven.”
“And why, Little Cousin, should I listen teh yeh?” He flashed Sebastian a grin that was somehow both lazy and feral. “Yeh’ve no real legs teh stand on and everyone knows it, the useless wastrel princeling, absent from his fair city all these years. Did yeh really think it would be that easy? That yeh could just waltz right in ta my city and demand my throne?”
“It is my throne Goran...” Sebastian started to protest but with a nod from his cousin a small contingent of guards began to close in on him, stances ready for a fight.
“The throne of Starkhaven is mine!” Goran shrieked, his face purpling. “And no others! Yeh’ll rot in the dungeons for yer treason, usurper!”
Sebastian grimaced, he’d never expected it to come to this. In the passionate throes of his rage his path had seemed clear. He’d charged towards his destiny with faith, in the Maker, in himself, in justice. Those illusions where beginning to crack now, under the weight of his cousin’s cruel glare.
With the speed and skill of much experience Sebastian drew his bow, an arrow nocked half a heartbeat later, and leveled the weapon at his cousin. He meant to threaten, rather than kill. He didn’t feel comfortable shedding more of his family’s blood for the sake of that Maker forsaken chair.
In an instant the room was still and silent, the dropping of a pin would have rung like a Chantry bell as everyone held their breath. Then just as quickly the room burst with motion once more, the guards emboldened by Sebastian’s obvious hesitation. The three nearest all lunged for him, spinning he loosed his arrow into the eye socket of one but the other two where upon him before he could fully nock another.
His grandfather’s bow was wrenched from his hands and tossed aside as each guard grasped an arm and tried to force him to his knees. He fought them with all his might, thrashing and writhing, trying to break free. It took two more men to finally subdue him and he was forced to kneel. A massive gloved hand caught hold of the hair at the back of his head, forcing him to look into his cousin’s face, now a perfect picture of smug gloating.
“Yer a right fool, Sebastian. I have to thank ye for making this so easy for me. I would have had teh track yeh down otherwise.” he smiled at Sebastian again, a twisted wicked thing, his eyes glittering with disdain. “Yeh’ll be made an example of of course, I’ll see that yeh suffer for yer arrogance, that all of Starkhaven knows of yer idiocy.”
He waved his hand again and Sebastian was hauled back up to his feet and dragged away. He tried to plead and reason with his captors as he was lead away but it was clear his words fell on deaf ears. None of the guards so much as looked at him. His heart ached as he was lead through his childhood home. It was both familiar and foreign, most of it was exactly the same as when he’d last seen it but with several minor differences that seemed intent on driving home how very unwelcome he was now.
He could tell by the route they where taking that he was indeed being taken to the dungeons. He’d already had a passing familiarity with them, having spent the occasional night locked up as punishment when his father had had enough of his antics. It had been a very distinctly different situation from the one he now found himself in.
Rough, uncaring hands tore at his armor, pulling it off and tossing it aside with cringe worthy clattering. Each piece was yanked free with the hasty efficiency of men doing a job they’d rather not be doing but felt obligated to do well. When at last the armor was fully removed and he stood only in woolen trousers and linen shirt he was searched, rather unceremoniously and invasively.
Thick fingers stroked, patted, and prodded all along his body in a manner that made him uncomfortable and self conscious as a small pile grew at his feet. Several vials of poison, a few potions, a couple tiny daggers, and several lockpicks later the guards felt satisfied they’d found all hidden contraband and without a single word spoken tossed him into a filthy cell. It came complete with musty hay strewn about the floor, reeking chamber-pot, rickety cot, and scratchy threadbare blanket.
He tried once more to plead his case but as before he was paid no heed. A single guard sat upon a much abused chair beside the heavy wooden door that lead to the main palace while all the others took their leave, a couple of nods and muttered mumblings passing between them as they left. Sebastian sighed wearily, dropping to his knees in the center of the dark and filthy cell and began to pray.