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enby-hawke · 2 years

Text

Chapter 9- Tranquility

Words:8274

Rating: Mature

Tw: tranquility, canon typical violence,

Read from the beginning

Hawke’s father taught him young that guilt was the most useless of all emotions. If you have time to feel guilty about something, you have time to do something about it.

It wasn’t that Hawke didn’t feel guilty, but he had learned long ago that guilt was just a a sign that something needed fixing. He knew he fucked up. Last night was damning, for sure, but Hawke was determined not to be suckered into a cycle of self-pity. He would make it up to Bethany.

Though how to precisely do that, stumped him.

Bethany was not one to be bought by gifts or bribes. He knew only a heartfelt gesture would work, so he thought surprising her with her favorite dish couldn’t hurt his chances. It was too simple to actually warrant forgiveness but he didn’t need forgiveness. He just needed Bethany to talk to him again.

There was still time to kill before they had to meet Anders at the Chantry, plenty of time to go to the store and gather the ingredients and cook dinner. Thankfully Varric was keeping Merrill busy with the job applications he was helping her fill out. He had even written her a resume with a few minor embellishments to make up for her lack of job history or formal education.

Hawke bribed Corff with a serving of food so he could use the kitchen to cook. It was a cramped little hole that didn’t even have a rice cooker, and Hawke used the last of his savings and bought them one so Bethany would have the perfect meal. Soon the Hanged Man was filled with the scent of meat marinated in vinegar and soy sauce.

Corff popped into the kitchen, crowding behind Hawke, his eyes looking hungrily at the giant covered saucepan. “Is it ready, yet?”

Hawke waved him away. “Give it some more time to simmer. The flavor has to meld together.”

Corff scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I heard you were looking for work. I’d pay you to work the dinner shift at the tavern.”

Hawke snorted. “Your pay is shit. I’d make more selling myself for a night at the Rose.”

Corff shook his head. “Suit yourself. And clean up after, yeah?”

Hawke waved him off as he opened the pot. Steam clouded into the vents above, blinding him momentarily. He tasted the sauce. It was salty, tangy, and delicious but Hawke sprinkled in a little more ginger to give it more zest. The brown sauce glistened on the chicken and the meat was so tender it was falling right off the bone.

Just like it should be.

Hawke pinched his fingers together rubbing them as he muttered under his breath, “and a little extra love.” The Fade opened up and he reached inside himself to pick out a memory of his father, serving this to them after coming back from a trip from the Deep Roads. He implanted the food with the feeling of the laughter at the table and the warmth of their bond, giving the extra kick it needed to make the meal perfect.

The chicken shimmered slightly blue for a few moments before it turned back to its glazed caramel color. He tasted it again, and smiled, feeling his father in his heart and hoping it would bring the same peace to Bethany.

He opened the rice cooker, to find the rice was fluffed up and waiting to be served. Everything was in place.

“I hope there’s enough for me,” a melodic voice crooned behind him.

Hawke turned around to find Isabela dressed in high-waisted shorts that rode high, and the same black-lace crop top she was wearing this morning, her bra flashing at the undersides. Her neck was still choked by the same statement necklace, adorned with a teardrop turquoise stone surrounded by gold. On her shapely hips were strapped with twin guns, and a dagger was slipped into her thigh-high skin-tight boots.

Hawke’s jaw dropped open as his eyes found a hard time figuring out where to land. “You’re welcome to anything I have,” he said without thinking. But it was true.She could walk off with his wallet right now, and he wouldn't think to stop her.

She sauntered up to him and sidled up close, reaching around him so they were just touching. She swiped her finger in some of the sauce, and then with a wicked grin licked her finger. “Mmmmm,” she moaned. “That’s to die for.”

Hawke found himself gulping down a swell of heated pride. He took a fork and pulled off a sliver of chicken. “You haven’t even tasted the main event.”

He offered it to her, his eyes dilating as he watched her thick red lips engulf the chicken. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her mouth as she chewed and then moaned, her lips curving up into a smile. “Mmmm I cannot tell you how hot it is when a man can cook.”

Hawke grinned eagerly. That was an in. “I’ll cook for you anytime.”

“Don’t test me, Hawke, I can eat,” she grabbed his fork and tore off another chunk of meat.

Hawke was rewarded with another moan. “Oh, Maker, what is this?”

He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Chicken adobo. My sister’s favorite.” Bethany. He reminded himself. He could not get sucked into this woman’s bed tonight. He had already too much to apologize for.

Isabela ran her finger through the sauce and coating the tip. “Mine, too, now. You’re serving this in this dump?” She sucked on her finger, licking it clean, and Hawke could feel himself getting hard as he watched.

Hawke wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in closer. “Private serving, but you’re invited.” Certainly dinner couldn’t hurt, could it?

She froze, pulling away. “This is not a date, is it?”

Hawke could see how spooked she was by the idea. “Well, that would be awkward with Varric and Merrill there.” Hawke suddenly wondered if he should mention his sister, and how dinner would even work with Bethany.

Isabela’s eyes seemed to light up at the mention of Merrill’s name. “Oh, that sweet little kitten? I had so much fun with her last night. She says the most adorable things.”

Hawke felt a little jealous that Isabela seemed more excited to see Merrill than him, but in the end, he decided it didn’t matter. “So good, you’re joining. You can help me carry this to Varric’s room.”

After siphoning off a portion for Corff, and some for Isabela who didn’t want to wait, Hawke ended up carrying everything by himself, the meal and dishes stacked high on one platter on his shoulder. Hawke couldn't even find it in himself to be annoyed because Isabela was making the most delightful noises as she ate her food. She sounded like she was filming a sex tape.

As he passed the patrons in the tavern lifted their heads at the aroma. “Hawke, you gonna share?” one of them asked.

Hawke grinned. If this was the reaction from the customers then maybe his chances with Beth weren’t so bad. “Sorry, fellas, this is a special dinner.”

The patrons grumbled returning to their drinks as Isabela greedily gnawed on her chicken thigh, sauce smearing on her lipstick.

Hawke fumbled for the doorknob of Varric’s room, finding the platter of plates and food a bit unwieldy.

Isabela rolled her eyes. “Men. Ask for help.”

“I did and you were busy stuffing your face.”

She flipped him off, slipped past him, and threw open the door. “Guess who’s back, bitches.”

Merrill squealed, bouncing in place. “Isabela! You’re joining the adventure?”

Boof lifted his head groggily from her lap before sniffing the food and sitting prettily at attention in front of Hawke, waiting for table scraps.

Isabela stuffed herself with another bite of sauce-slathered rice before she said with a full mouth, “what adventure?”

Merrill leaned in eagerly. “Well after you left we met a Grey Warden with a rather mean cat who has a friend trapped in the Circle. So we’re going to break him out. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Boof kept sitting down. And then getting up. And then sat down, showing what a good boy he was, and how much he deserved a bite as a treat.

Varric chuckled incredulously, stacking the pile of job applications he was working on together with Merrill at the corner of the table to make room for his plate. “Fun. That’s one way of putting it.”

Isabela widened her eyes as if impressed. “Wow, fucking with the Chantry. You’re crazy,” she then smirked at Lucky, “Kinda like it.”

Hawke found himself goofily grinning back.

Merrill’s hands were vibrating near her face. “Does that mean you’ll come ‘Bela?”

Isabela chuckled, lifting Merrill’s chin with the tip of her manicured red nail. “Only if you’re joining Kitten.”

Merrill blushed, reddening her tawny beige skin so even the top of her head was heated. She started babbling incoherently as she fidgeted with her hands.

Lucky almost dropped the platter as he tripped over his own two feet. He stumbled, the plates clattering as he caught himself just barely. “Nailed it,” he chuckled sheepishly, setting down the platter in the middle of the table. The steam from the chicken and rice clouded the air pulling every nose in its direction.

The table was no longer talking about the mission.

Merrill's eyes widened as her mouth dropped open. “Oh, I didn’t know you made chicken adobo in the city.”

Lucky smiled, pouring her a heaping bowl. “It’s my father’s recipe. I hope you like it.”

“Oh, I know I will. It’s nice to have a taste of home,” Merrill said gleefully. “And you should hear Bethany. She doesn’t want to say it but she’s grateful.”

Hawke smiled. He would take that for now.

Isabela cocked her head, her tight coils bouncing and eyed the amulet on Merrill’s neck. “Oh, so you’re talking to it now.” Her eyes gleamed with greed and curiosity.

“She’s not an ‘it’,” Hawke snapped before he could stop himself. How was he supposed to explain this to Isabela? Should he explain it to Isabela?

The whole table got awkwardly silent as they avoided Hawke’s gaze, wondering what to say. Finally, Hawke sighed, figuring it was easier to just come out with the truth. “It’s complicated. My sister’s soul is in that amulet.”

Isabela cocked her head, and said, “I thought it looked familiar. It looks like an anting-anting. Pretty valuable. This is the first genuine one I’ve seen.”

Merrill looked surprised. “Is that what you call it? The Dalish call it an agimat.”

Lucky looked between them. “What’s that?”

Merrill lifted the amulet by the beads. “An agimat is a special charm that wards off evil spirits, often by housing a benevolent one to protect the wearer.”

Isabela nodded. “It’s the same in Rivain, usually with Fade spirits, not people’s spirits. Though I’ve heard of wicked witches cursing people into objects like amulets. But you didn’t curse your sister into a demon warding charm, did you?” Her teasing smile started to fall as she started to consider the possibility.

“No, a witch tricked me,” Hawke bristled, plopping down into the seat next to Merrill with his plate. Though, in a way, Isabela’s words had hit truer than he wanted to admit.

“You had to be there to believe it,” Varric muttered, taking a tentative bite of chicken, his mouth turned up into a smile. "Wow, Hawke. You're a man of many talents."

Hawke took an exaggerated bow in his seat. "You're right, Varric. I am."

He thought Merrill would giggle but suddenly tears were flowing freely from her cheeks, her spoon stuck in her mouth.

Isabela leaned forward and placed her hand on Merrill’s clenched fist. “Oh no, what is it, Kitten?”

Hawke panicked. He always felt awkward and useless when people started crying. Did he say something wrong? Did the spell go wrong?

“It’s B-Bethany,” Merrill’s voice stuttered and wiped her cheeks but the tears still flowed freely. Boof whined and pushed his head into Merrill’s lap. Her hands shook too much to even pet him. “H-Hawke, I-I think she needs you.”

She reached for the amulet, but it seemed like her hands didn’t want to work, like she was fighting something. She managed to take it off her neck, but her grip slipped and the necklace fell. Hawke dove to from his seat, catching Bethany before the amulet could hit the ground.

Boof woofed and rushed up to him but Hawke waved him away, fumbling to put Bethany on. As soon as he did, his breathing stopped. His chest felt like it was caving in. The familiar phantom pain was back, knocking him senseless. Hawke reeled, feeling the tears prick his eyes as he was overcome by a swirl of dizzying emotions: betrayal, loss, and grief. It felt like death was claiming them, but Hawke knew this was a pain born from panic. It took all his concentration not to be taken in by Bethany’s racing thoughts, like a rushing river crashing against him, disorienting him. He clenched his nails into his palms, the pain grounding him and in turn Bethany.

Flee. He needed to hide- escape. Bethany was falling apart and he didn’t want anyone to see him- them like this. Hawke pushed Boof away and stumbled towards the door, his feet tripping over themselves. He shut himself in the hallway, but could only manage to lean on the frame as he wheezed, trying to slow down his breathing. He could hear Boof whining and scratching from the other side.

He emanated a calming spell, but it barely slowed his racing heart. But it was enough that he could think again.

“What’s wrong? What did I do? I’ll fix it.”

He could feel her unraveling, her sense of self tearing apart. “It doesn’t taste the same without my tongue. Nothing will ever be the same! Nothing!”

Hawke felt a pang of guilt as he wiped his wet face, finding tears streaming there. He should have known that fixing him and Beth was going to take more than a magical meal. “No, it won’t,” he confirmed, but the truth couldn’t change the grief he was feeling. “I’m sorry. But it doesn’t mean it can’t get better.”

“How? With blood magic?” she spat the word like a curse.

“If that’s what it takes. I’m willing to try anything, Beth. Just give me some time.”

He could feel her hesitate, guilt and turmoil broiling at the thought of him performing more dark rituals. But he could feel another feeling. Terror. That she would live in a state of dissociation for the rest of her unnatural life. That if she didn’t let him explore with blood magic she would outlive her family and everyone she knew and stare forever into the endless void until it finally drove her to madness. “I’m scared. I felt it when you performed blood magic last night. It’s evil. I can’t ask you to sacrifice anymore for me.”

“Well good thing I’m not asking. You know I’ll do this whether I have your permission or not. I will make this right if it takes the rest of my life,” he gritted his teeth, knowing he was being harsh. “Though I shouldn’t have performed blood magic around you. Drunk or not, that was unforgivable. You don’t need to see that. I’m sorry for what I put you through.”

He could feel her calming a bit at his apology, though he could feel the resentment at the edges of her thoughts. His heartbeat in his ears started to slow.

“Promise?” He could hear her disbelief.

Hawke smiled. “Promise.”

The door opened behind him and Boof tumbled out. He whined, curling around Hawke. Hawke leaned over and kissed Boof’s forehead and inhaled. He definitely needed a bath, but his familiar scent and the roughness of his fur further grounded Hawke and Bethany. Merrill shyly slid behind Hawke with wide emerald eyes still red with tears. In her arms was Hawke’s bowl that he had abandoned at the table. “Is Bethany ok?”

Hawke smiled, touching Merrill’s arm lightly. “Thanks for the concern. She just needs some time.”

She turned red and shoved his bowl into his hands. “Well, I thought you both would be hungry. We’re playing Wicked Grace until Anders texts us, if you want to join.”

“Sure-” but before Hawke could say more Merrill disappeared into the room, slamming the door shut in his face.

“Huh,” he blinked, wondering why she left so abruptly, but his stomach growled when he smelled the adobo gently steaming in his hands.

He hesitated. “If you want I can eat something else.”

Bethany could feel his mouth watering even as he said that. “No…you need your strength. I’m…okay now.”

He sat on the ground, sniffing as he wiped his wet face and stirred the chicken and rice so they all mixed together. Then he picked up the bone of one of the thighs and bit into the meat. An explosion of tangy juicy flavor enveloped his tongue, warming him to his core. Almost immediately he was brought back into the memory.

It was a regular school night in a new town, where they were strangers to everyone. Father had been reassigned to Highever after just coming back from a three-month-long mission for the Grey Wardens. Bethany had been the target of some bullies at school, and Carver had gotten detention for mouthing off at them, but for once Carver didn’t get in trouble. Instead, Leandra went shopping and Malcolm cooked everyone this meal with the help of his magic. Bethany remembered how Lucky did impressions of the girls at the table, making her laugh until her sides hurt. Lucky remembered how Bethany ended up eating more than Carver, who was really butthurt about it for some reason. They both remembered how brilliantly their mother smiled now that their father was home. He would be leaving again in a few weeks, but they had now. This moment.

Boof leaned on Hawke, guarding him as curled up at Hawke’s feet, staring at him with attentive big eyes.

While the memory was full of joy, Hawke could feel Bethany grow more melancholy with each bite and he found tears stinging his eyes again.

“Does it not taste good?”

“No, it’s wonderful…it’s just…Father…I’ll never see him again, will I?”

Lucky was never good with religious talks, but he said, “You don’t know that Beth. If you’re not worthy of the Maker’s Grace then no one is, got that? Just keep faith.”

Boof lay his heavy head on Hawke's knee, closing his eyes in contentment.

“I’m scared,” she repeated.

“I know,” Hawke nodded, running his hand over Boof's fur. “But you’re a fighter, a survivor. And you’re not alone. Carver and I always have your back and you have new friends already. You’ll make a new life Bethany. It will be different but it will also be wonderful.”

Bethany finally smiled. “You’re so deluded, you make me almost believe you.”

Hawke found himself smiling too. “Then just believe your big brother. He’s going to take care of you.”

She almost did.

—-------

After finishing off the meal, Hawke finally joined the game of Wicked Grace, Bethany watching from the sidelines. Nobody mentioned the freakout, and the night went much more merrily.

Hawke asked if Bethany would like a hand for herself, but ultimately she felt that was ridiculous, so he insisted they were on a team, though no amount of cajoling would get her to actually participate. They kept having to stop the game to explain the rules to Merrill, and Varric kept stopping the game to break out random ass stories. Hawke could swear Isabela was definitely stuffing cards into her bra, but he couldn’t prove it no matter how long he stared at her breasts.

Finally after a quarter past midnight Hawke’s phone buzzed for Anders to meet them at the Chantry.

“Hitting up the Chantry twice in a row? That’s ballsy?” Isabela chuckled.

“The Chantry?” Varric asked, his eyes wide with worry. “Why are we meeting there of all places?”

Hawke shrugged. “Beats trying to figure out how to break into the Gallows. That place is a fortress.”

Bethany felt uneasy. She didn’t want to return to the sight where she had unwittingly helped massacre last night’s outlaws. Her stomach felt sick with the weight of all the death that already clung to the Chantry.

“Hey,” Hawke nudged in his head. “They were heartless criminals. Save your tears.”

“You’re a criminal. Should I save my tears?”

Hawke gritted his teeth, but he didn’t have a smartass comeback for once.

They piled into Varric’s car and flew to Hightown, finding an abandoned alleyway near a sea-green bookshop that looked discreet and close enough to walk to the Chantry.

The streets of Hightown were filled with its usual night-town inhabitants, guards on patrol, club hoppers, and cutpurses looking for an easy mark.

The Chantry, however, was not even guarded, which seemed strange to Hawke, because there usually was at least one guard falling asleep on the stoop. He thought he shouldn’t push his luck questioning an opening.

Hawke leaned against the alley wall and clocked all eight cameras watching the entrance of the Chantry.

He gathered everyone in a huddle and said, “Now, stay close, I have a spell that’ll help us sneak past the cameras.”

Merrill started bouncing. “Oh, the electropulse spell. You used that same trick last night. Can I try?”

Hawke blinked. “I showed you how to do it?”

“Well, sort of,” Merrill placed a finger on the top of the horn of the vallaslin on her cheek. “You weren’t very coherent, but I understood what you were trying to say. Sort of.” Before Hawke could clarify further she closed her eyes, and then her hands started to whine in a high-pitched hum.

Boof started howling at the sound until Lucky shushed him.

She aimed her hands at the camera and the whining sound got louder as a wave of energy shot at the camera until it sparked and fried, its red blinking light shutting off.

Hawke placed a hand on Merrill’s shoulder. “Wow, nicely done.”

She smiled bashfully, a slight flush on her cheeks.

Then his lips pulled in a wolfish grin. “Do you want to compete for points?”

“Lucky,” Bethany warned.

“What?” Merrill cocked her head in confusion, but Hawke was already dashing up the steps to the Chantry laughing carefreely.

He shot out his hand and instantaneously a wave of energy fried another camera. “That’s one for me. Now we’re even.”

Merrill’s eyes widened into saucers. “Oh, oh is this a game?”

Hawke laughed and reached out his hand. “Yeah, play with me.”

Boof listened to the call and bounced up and down, prancing around Hawke in a circle as he playfully growled.

Bethany didn’t know how Lucky could find the time to play in the middle of breaking someone out of the Circle, but Lucky could find levity in any situation.

Merrill was practically vibrating. Her grin was suddenly determined. “You’re going to eat my halla droppings, Hawke.” She picked up her staff and started running rather nimbly up the stairs towards the next camera but Lucky was already farther ahead and with the haste spell was gaining the lead. He waved his hand and another camera sparked dead. “That’s two for me. Don’t make this easy for me now.”

Isabela crossed her arms as she trailed in step with Varric. “Well, now I feel left out.”

“You want to place a bet?” Varric pulled a shiny sovereign bill out of his wallet.

Isabela smirked, pulling her own out of her lacy bra. “My money’s on Kitten.”

Varric smirked, his gold tooth shining. “Your loss, Rivaini.”

Merrill’s giggles echoed into the night as she ran after Hawke, but her legs were shorter, and couldn’t quite keep up with his gait. Boof barked happily as he dashed beside Hawke at full speed. Soon enough Hawke was close enough to the next camera and wound himself for the next spell when Merrill disappeared under the ground in a mess of vines. Hawke was stunned, never having seen the spell, and in that moment of hesitation, Merrill popped up in front of Hawke and with a wave of her staff, she had the next camera.

“Almost,” she giggled and then disappeared into the ground again in a tumble of vines.

“Shit,” Hawke swore and sped up. He wasn’t expecting that and he found himself a little starstruck.

Merrill popped up in the blind spot of the next camera and shot out her hand, the camera exploding in a burst of energy. “That’s three, now. Keep up, Hawke!”

Hawke laughed fully with his belly and Fade-stepped up next to Merrill, his image a vibrating blur. “You’ve gotta teach me that teleport spell!” Then he fade stepped away and shut off the next camera.

Merrill twisted her face in a frown. “Why would you need it? You’re managing just fine.” Then she disappeared under the ground.

Hawke Fade-stepped to the next camera, winding up for the next spell. “Because it’s badass and I want to try it out,” but before he could cast his spell a thick vine wrapped around his leg and tripped him.

Merrill popped up in front of him and shot out the camera. “Well that’s too bad,” she put her hand on her hip. “I can’t go spilling all my clan’s secrets now can I?”

The vines came alive and restrained Hawke.

Boof growled and tore at the vines at Hawke's arms tearing them apart with his teeth.

“Hey, no fair,” Hawke cried. Boof was a good boy, but he wasn't going to be fast enough. Lucky’s body glowed bright yellow as he shifted into a crow and flew towards the last camera at full speed.

But Merrill was already there and with a graceful bow of her staff, the last camera was decimated. She jumped up and down, her arms waving in the air as her staff flailed. “Mythal’s Mercy, I did it! I did it!”

Bethany had never felt what it was like to be a bird before, never felt so free and light in the air. With Lucky’s silly game, his joy had become infectious and she could find herself feeling some peace again.

Then the flying feeling was over as Lucky plopped down in front of Merrill, and unshifted, his arms crossed and his lip pouting in sullen defeat. “You cheated. I totally had this.”

Merrill looked sheepish all of a sudden. “Well, we didn’t exactly establish rules.”

Varric was scowling as Isabela reached for his sovereign. He pulled it away from her. “I’m with Hawke, Rivaini. This bet didn’t count.”

Isabela put her hand on her shapely hip, a smirk on her lips. “Kitten just knows that in a cutthroat world she has to use her claws.”

Hawke was a little miffed to be sure and every fiber of his being wanted to contest the win, but when he opened his mouth, he paused to look at the delight on Merrill’s face. She was positively beaming, her smile so wide as she petted Boof he found his anger just fading away and his own smile replacing it. “Alright, fine, you’re too cute to be mad at. Rematch, ok?”

Merrill froze, and then like clockwork, she blushed from the top of her shaved head to the tips of her pointed ears. “I-I..” It seemed like the words were stolen out of her mouth.

Bethany wanted to scold Lucky but honestly, she could feel how genuinely he meant it and she wasn’t sure if he even meant to flirt. It just was as automatic as breathing.

With a grumble, Varric finally handed over the sovereign. "Fine, Daisy wins on a technicality. Never say I didn't get you anything, Rivaini."

Isabela smirked and tucked the sovereigns into her bra. "Awww, you're so sweet."

Suddenly the doors to the Chantry opened, and a masked figure in all black appeared. Everyone drew their weapons when the masked figure took off his hood and revealed his face.

It was Anders.

He looked confused. “I thought I heard a commotion out here. I’ve been waiting just inside.”

Hawke walked up to him with a sly smile. “Nice outfit.”

Anders raised his eyebrow. “Thanks?” He cleared his throat. “Glad you all made it.” His eyes fell on Isabela. “And you invited more?”

Isabela smirked, cocking a hip. “Yeah, we’re making it a party.”

Anders smiled though he looked like he was gritting his teeth. “Well as long as everyone here knows a thing or two about discretion.”

“Discretion’s my middle name.” Isabela made a motion of zipping her lips.

“What a mouthful for your mother,” he replied boredly. His eyes fell on Hawke and Bethany’s heart started speeding up as she fell in his hazel eyes. “Are you ready, then?”

“As we’ll ever be,” Hawke nodded.

“Good,” Anders echoed the nod and held open the door. “Let’s be quick about this before templars come.”

The Chantry was deadly quiet, caution tape that said ‘Kirkwall Guard- Do Not Cross’ on it was strung up all throughout the worship hall. Dried blood was still splattered everywhere, on the ground, strewn across the walls, even splattering up the high ceiling of the Chantry. Everywhere were tape lines where dead bodies used to be splayed out. Andraste’s golden statue was marred, her face still smeared with dried blood. The angular archways exaggerated the shape of the group's shadows as Hawke’s mage light bounced in the darkness.

Boof trotted quietly next to Hawke as his eyes shifted around, looking for danger in the shadows. Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor, Boof's nails clicking.

“Someone made a mess of the place last night,” Anders muttered. “I can still smell the blood magic.”

It was a sulfury rotten smell that curdled the stomach.

Hawke straightened up, chuckling as he scratched the back of his neck.

Merrill leaned over to Isabela. “Do we tell him?”

Isabela shrugged. “Not my call.”

Anders looked over his shoulder inquisitively at the girls. “Excuse me? Do you know something about this?”

But before anyone could answer a voice called out from the shadows, the voice loud but somehow drained of life. “Anders.”

Anders’ name echoed through the Chantry as out of one of the shadows of the archway a figure appeared.

Anders seemed to recognize the voice and stepped towards the shadows eagerly. “Karl! Karl! I’m here.”

The man stepped out leisurely, his face slowly being revealed from the darkness but there was something strange. He was young, no older than Hawke, with short dark brown hair and an impressive full beard. He was handsome, with sparkling blue eyes and a strong nose but his deathly pale face was utterly devoid of expression. On his forehead was a Chantry sun branded in a burn.

Varric sighed deeply. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

As Anders saw Karl, his face fell, and tears pricked his eyes. “Karl…no.”

“I was too impulsive. I loved you so much it hurt. But now that hurt is gone, and yours can be, too, Anders.”

As Karl's dead voice spoke, dozens and dozens of templars emerged from the upper levels and cut off the exits. They were completely surrounded on all sides, shiny black assault rifles pointed in their direction.

Before them, Anders was twitching, roiling. His teeth were gritted, his fists clenched as his shoulders shook.

Hawke’s gut plummeted, as Bethany roiled in panic.

“Lucky, what do we do?”

They pointed their weapons, the sound of their guns cocking into place. Their armor was shiny and sleek, with the Sword of Mercy emblazoned on their chests. They seemed to move in unison like they shared the same mind as they tactically blocked off each exit.

Karl slowly made his way into one of the side rooms past a wall of templars. “Please do not fight. You will know peace finally, Anders.”

Then Karl shut the door behind them and a templar with an especially pointy helmet stepped forward. “Apostates and criminals aiding apostates, we give you one chance. Surrender or you will be gunned down. This is your only warning!”

Boof crouched into a fighting stance, a warning growl rumbling lowly.

Lucky’s hands twitched, his mind racing for what to do. Varric looked at him. “Look, there’s no win here. If we surrender, we might be able to plead our case.”

Then Anders snapped. The whole room burst as he glowed blue, knocking everyone down with energy. His face was cracked with light, his eyes glowing with the same vivid color as a righteous light emanated from his body. The veil shifted a feeling of vertigo as the Fade opened up and flooded the area with thick magic like the Fade was melding with reality. He swirled his staff. “Surrender!? After what they did to Karl?! Never! They will die! Every last one of them!” his voice was warped and distorted.

Then Anders threw a fireball at the first group of templars that recovered from the initial blast.

Bethany panicked, seeing whatever possessed Anders take out templar after templar with brutal efficiency, in a flurry of spells that were too fast to possibly be human. He was snarling, his voice warped and demonic, as tears streamed down his cheeks.

“What’s happening!?” she cried as Lucky formed barriers around everyone, the blue cooling magic encasing their skin just in time for the bullets to spark off of them.

Hawke shot a chain of lightning at a group of templars and they jerked and jolted, firing wildly. “Like I know!”

Bethany’s mind was rushing with panic. Templars. They were fighting templars. If Mother could see them now she would faint. “What will they do if they find me?”

Suddenly Lucky froze as the battle raged around him. They could both see it. Lucky would be thrown into the Circle and they would judge Bethany as a demon and she'd be locked up in a cabinet under magical wards if they didn’t destroy her. And Bethany couldn’t decide at the moment which would be the worse fate.

Lucky’s insides solidified as he surveyed the battlefield. The gunfire was so loud it made it impossible to think. He could feel the vibrations of the bullets slinging through the air.

Anders may have caught them by surprise but they were still hopelessly outnumbered. He watched as multiple templars took aim at Merrill, Varric, and Isabela, all on opposite ends of the room. He only had time for one spell.

Lucky gritted his teeth. “I’m sorry, Beth.”

Suddenly Lucky pulled out a dagger and stabbed himself in the stomach pulling as much power from the pain. The whole world seemed to slow to a crawl. Bethany could feel the sharply jagged edge of the knife in her stomach, the lurch as something hungry inside Lucky twisted awake. Then the templars aimed their guns at each other and fired, crumpling to the ground with bullets in their foreheads.

Bethany had a sense that the world was falling as the templars bled out. She felt like she would throw up. Her hands began to shake.

“Blood mage!” a templar cried out.

The whole battle seemed to shift. Hawke bled freely, using his pain to give himself a sharp clarity and focus. He avoided more blood magic, but she could tell his spells had more power behind them because of his bleeding wound.

Bethany could see the whole battlefield at a glance. Merrill was stabbing her staff in her stomach as vines ensnared templar’s feet, tripping them. The templar aiming at Merrill coughed against the screen of his helmet, bleeding from the inside.

Varric and Isabela were back to back in the middle of the battlefield sniping at enemies.

A templar tried to butt the head of his gun at Varric, but Varric weaved to the side and shot him in the weak spot at the jugular.

Another templar jutted her bayonet at Isabela and she ducked and swept the templar’s leg knocking her to the ground. The templar’s helmet fell off with a clatter, her blue eyes wide with fear. With a quick pull of the trigger, Isabela shot her in the forehead.

Boof was bouncing off templars as he ducked and weaved past bullets, knocking guns from people’s hands and tripping people over with rushed charges. He snarled, snapping at a templar as he leapt on top of the brute, and then efficiently tore out his throat. His jaws dripped with blood and he howled in victory.

Anders though was the most vicious of all. He was a phantom on the battlefield, his speed a blur. The templars frantically tried to dispel him with cleansings, but it was like he was made of raw energy that couldn’t be tamed. He froze a group of templars with a winter’s grasp, and then Fade-stepped up and crushed a templar’s helmet with his fiery fist. The templar’s head exploded in an icy mess of brains.

But the templars were rallying, pushing them all into a corner. Lucky’s timed barriers were being knocked down faster than he could make them, and Merrill and Anders could not keep up with the defenses.

Suddenly Hawke felt a burst of pain as a bullet pushed past his barrier. His stomach wound exploded with a burst of viscera. Hawke coughed, keeling over feeling like his stomach was burning raw. He fell to his knees, holding the wound closed, and looked down. There was shrapnel caving his stomach open.

“Lucky!” Bethany cried. The pain this time was so much worse, and yet it seemed familiar. Darkspawn flashed before her eyes. She had a sense of dissociative floating like she was losing herself. She felt Lucky’s chest tighten in pressure, as he went into shock.

“Hawke!” Varric and Merrill cried in unison and blocked his body with their own.

Isabela closed the rest of the gap guarding Hawke. “Hey, hurry up and heal. We need you.”

Hawke breathed heavily through the pain and something shifted in him, a stirring, a hatred burning so deep Bethany thought she would be burned. “Fucking templars,” his right eye shifting from blue to red. And instead of healing the wound, he dug with his fingers.

Bethany howled with pain, feeling him writhe as the blood gushed out. It splattered on the ground and came to life beneath the group's feet and then shot outwards like harpoons. The blood honed in on each templar and froze them in place, sticking to them like a web until they were surrounded by a sea of red strings.

Bethany could see Lucky’s mind. Everything was turning blue except the bodies. Everyone's bodies, though, were warm with life, glowing like little embers in a hazy fog. She could see the outline of the templar’s skeletons, how her brother reached into their bodies and just tore the flesh apart like he was ripping up paper. The bodies convulsed, as their flesh melted off of their bones, liquefying into a puddle. One by one the templar’s armor clattered into a pile of viscera and bone.

Suddenly the Chantry was quiet. Vines were entangled everywhere, creeping along the floor as templars lain strewn about. Some of the pillars were cracked and there were bullet holes everywhere. Somehow, they had made it out alive.

“Fuck,” Hawke looked around at the damage he caused. He grabbed his hair, smearing his face with blood. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck we murdered templars.”

“That’s bad isn’t it,” Merrill’s fingers held her bleeding arm as she looked around the scene with worry.

“Really bad,” Varric groaned, still slightly out of breath. “Try ‘being excommunicated and locked up for life’ bad.”

“Haaaawke, I did not sign up for this,” Isabela whined as she stepped across a dead templar, but then eyed his shiny ring. “Well, you won’t be needing this.”

Bethany looked down at her hands, her brother’s hands drenched with blood that wasn’t her own. Flashes of last night played out before her eyes as a terror overwhelmed her. The room started to spin. Hawke’s hands shook as Bethany's flooded panic took over. She could remember controlling the blood, how it had a hunger for death in its essence, could feel the templars shredding apart with brutal efficiency, could still hear their gurgling screams as they cried out for mercy. Her hands took life and left a corpse of someone’s son, someone’s brother, someone’s- “Oh Maker…Oh no we…”

“I’m so sorry, Beth. They were going to kill us. I’m so sorry,” Hawke was so panicked he was speaking aloud, wheezing through heavy breathing. “You didn’t do anything. That was me. All me.” Sharp stabbing pain in his side crumpled him into a ball. “Oh fuck, Carver’s gonna kill me if this doesn’t.” Hawke clutched his stomach. It felt like it was on fire, and he was keenly aware Bethany felt every burning throb. This was not how the night was supposed to go. His hands clutched the bullet wound in his gut, and his body started to grow cold as the adrenaline left his system. How much blood did he actually use?

“Let me see that,” Anders said, his voice starting to sound more normal now, less demonic. His glow had started to disappear, though it hadn’t quite left his eyes. His face was grim and hard as he glared at Hawke.

Hawke looked at him warily. And just what the fuck was he? That wasn’t just some everyday blood magic. That looked like a full-on possession and yet now he somehow looked almost in control.

Bethany was terrified of him. Was there a demon riding inside his head? A demon just like she was?

Hawke allowed Anders to look at the wound.

Anders’ eyes went white as he scanned it. “The bullet’s still in there.”

“I’m running low on mana. Do you think you can heal it for me?” Hawke asked through gritted teeth.

“Hawke, it needs to be removed,” Anders furrowed his eyebrows.

“No time. We need to get out of here,” Hawke hissed.

Anders' lips thinned into a line, but then his eyes started to glow. A humming in his hands filled the air as he sealed his hand over Hawke’s gaping stomach. In a flash of light, the wound was closed over into a scab, but the skin still looked horribly bruised. Bethany found herself breathing a little easier, but she could still feel the grinding in her gut.

“That won’t hold. You need to come back with me to the clinic,” Anders commanded.

Merrill and Varric crowded over Hawke with worried expressions while Isabela was busily looting the bodies of their purses.

“Oh, Hawke are you alright?” Merrill asked.

“Don’t worry about me, Merrill,” Hawke slapped on a carefree grin. “I’m made of pretty sturdy stuff.”

“I’ll say. You’re one terrifying motherfucker, Hawke,” Varric crossed his arms with an uneasy grin as he eyed a pile of templar goo.

Suddenly a voice rang out from behind them. “Oh Maker.” Karl was folding his hands as he crept out of his closet, trembling. “I almost…If you hadn’t stopped me, they would have made you tranquil.”

Hawke glowered, marching up with a raised fist. “It’s a little late to have remorse, isn’t it?”

Anders grabbed him by the shoulder. “He was made Tranquil. He couldn’t help himself.”

Hawke’s head snapped up at Anders with a glare. “Do Tranquil’s cry?” He pointed at Karl accusingly. “Face it. He tricked you! Your friend fed you to the fucking Templars.”

“He might not have had a choice,” Anders’ voice had an edge as he put himself between Hawke and Karl. “You’re going to let me talk to him.” Anders’ eyes started to glow again, telling Hawke he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Hawke glared at Karl, murderous rage in his eyes, but Bethany cried out, “You can’t. No more! Please don’t kill anyone else.”

Suddenly Bethany’s tears were running down his face and he shoved Anders off before he could see.

It was too late. Bethany was sobbing inside him, as she replayed the templars’ death again and again in her head. Everywhere she turned there was blood, horror and death. The Maker would never take her soul now.

Hawke couldn’t stand the guilt. He'd made a promise and broken it the very same night. “Fine,” he sniffed, wiping his face, smearing more blood. “Talk. But if he tries anything I won’t hesitate.”

Anders didn’t reply with anything but a grim nod before turning back towards Karl. He placed two hands on the man’s shoulders which comforted him little. Karl was sobbing into his hands, ugly snotty tears. Anders pulled him into a hug. “Karl…Karl…Calm down you’re going to hyperventilate.”

The man seemed to be unable to catch his breath. “I a-a-almost k-killed you!”

“Karl, everything’s ok. We’re safe now.”

“N-n-no. Th-they found our letters,” he choked on a sob. “D-dragged me into the H-Harrowing Chamber and did some kind of r-r-ritual and br-branded me.” He shut his eyes tight. “Y-you can’t imagine it. A-all the color, all the music in the world- gone. My v-voice…My own body…” He couldn’t seem to contain the thought before he broke down into more sobs.

As Hawke listened to the man, his anger faded away as he thought of Bethany. In a way, Karl was her opposite, a man who could move freely but not think for himself. He could not imagine losing his love for his family. He couldn’t imagine the templars would come up with something this twisted either. His hatred shifted back to the templars, wishing he could kill more of them.

He clenched his fists, not knowing what to do anymore.

Anders folded Karl into his chest, shushing him as he sobbed. “I’m here, now. They won’t hurt you anymore.”

“It’s too late, Anders,” Karl croaked. “Whatever y-you did. It’s already fading.” He pulled away for a second and reached for the dagger at Anders’ belt. “Please, I want to die human.”

Bethany thought she couldn’t imagine a fate worse than what she had been subjected to, and yet being Tranquil… No matter what else she lost, she still had her will. She found herself finding pity for the man. “There must be something we can do.”

Without even realizing it, Hawke had said her words aloud.

Anders' head snapped at Hawke. “Can you cure a beheading?” which made Karl flinch. “The dreams of Tranquils are severed. How can I fix that?”

“But you’re being too hasty,” Hawke stepped forward, his heart thudding in his chest. “Something you did worked. He’s still alive. With enough time-”

“I don’t have time,” Karl shouted. “Don’t you understand, I won’t be me anymore. I can’t lose myself again!” Karl’s face faltered as he grabbed Anders' hand and brought it to his wet cheek. “Please, I can’t lose how I feel about you.”

Before Anders could reply Karl captured his lips in a passionate kiss. Tears spilled down Anders’ cheeks as he closed his eyes, pulling Karl closer. Lucky turned his head away respectfully giving them space as he thought of Bethany, feeling her pain deepen. Anders tangled his fingers in Karl’s hair, kissing him like he couldn’t breathe until eventually Karl’s body grew slack and his eyes opened slowly, suddenly growing still.

Anders continued to kiss his lips but Karl no longer responded. His face was without life or expression.

Anders pulled away, grief in his voice. “Karl?”

“Anders,” Karl replied monotonously. “Why are you looking at me like that?” It was Karl’s voice, but there was no emotion, no recognition in his dull blue eyes.

“No,” Anders' face twisted. He took a few steps back as he clutched his temples, and for a moment it looked like he would fall apart right there. In an instant, Anders’ demeanor turned calm and serious and with a trembling hand, he drew his dagger.

Hawke stepped forward, this time blocking Karl’s body with his own. “Wait. You can’t take this back. He’s still alive, dude. He’s in there somewhere.”

Bethany could feel Lucky’s desperation. It wasn’t about Karl anymore and she knew it. He needed to believe that he could be saved. That she could be saved. Seeing Anders give up on Karl scared him more than anything.

Anders shook his head, a tear falling down his cheek as his eyes closed. “It doesn’t matter,” his voice was barely a whisper. “I won’t make him live like that. It was his last wish.”

All of Hawke’s arguments crumpled in his throat. He clenched his jaw and wordlessly stepped aside. Anders stepped forward and raised his dagger, his lip trembling. Karl’s expression didn’t change until Anders cut his throat and even then it was just a brief moment of surprise that he was bleeding.

Hawke turned away instinctively, trying to shut out Karl’s dying gasps only to find Varric comforting a weeping Merrill pulled into Isabela’s chest. When he looked down at his own hands they were shaking and wet with blood, Bethany’s thoughts dangerously quiet and still.

Boof whined and then threw his head up in a mournful howl that echoed through the Chantry.

As the howl faded, Anders' expression was carefully constructed and stiff, but it wasn’t hard to see the glisten in his eyes. Hawke cleared his throat uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck.

“C’mon,” Anders sighed bitterly. “There’s nothing left here.”

#lucky hawke #hawke #da2 fic #da fic #dragon age #lucky doesn't look so good in this chapter

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shivunin · 6 months

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Two of Hearts

I meant to post this with the full piece by @ndostairlyrium but sadly I didn't finish it in time to post them together--regardless, here it is now! (the larger version is here. Cannot recommend commissioning her enough; she is a delight of a human being!)

(Fenris/Maria Hawke | 1,541 Words | CW: alcohol)

“Belt off, Hawke,” Varric said the moment she and Fenris stepped into the dwarf’s room in the Hanged Man. “Cloak, too.”

Hawke paused mid-step, one foot through the door and the other on the threshold. Fenris caught himself just before he would have run into her.

“Andraste’s eyebrows, Varric—if you wanted me naked, you ought to’ve asked years ago. I’m afraid my heart belongs to another now,” she sighed. “What a terrible shame for you.”

The room was better-lit than the larger dining room downstairs. It was often so on the nights they came for cards, as if Varric was trying to beat back the Kirkwall night outside. The firelight caught in the curls of Hawke’s hair, left loose today for they’d hardly left her manor before they’d come here. When she tilted her head, Fenris saw the faint curl of a dimple in her cheek. Trying not to smile and failing; a night with Hawke when she was feeling capricious could be dangerous, but he could not find it in himself to feel concerned. He knew very well what had put her in such a good mood, after all.

“Yeah, yeah,” Varric rolled his eyes. “Off, Hawke. If you want to sneak in that extra deck of yours, it’ll have to be some other night.”

“I am outraged,” Hawke said, unclasping her cloak and tossing it in the general direction of a cabinet. It slid to the ground with a soft thud. “Outraged, I say!”

“Oh, stow it,” Isabela said. She sat at the end of the table nearest Varric, her face dissatisfied. “He already took both of my boots, if you can imagine. If I’ve got to suffer, then so do you, Hawke. This floor is like ice.”

“There’s a carpet, Bela,” Varric said, shuffling his own deck. “Boots, too, Hawke.”

“And?” Isabela shot back. “The least you could do is lend a pair of socks.”

Hawke’s belt and boots were set aside, too, and she flounced to the table with visible indignation. Fenris, still standing in the doorway, watched her until she sat, shaking his head slightly. Hawke looked back at him and held out a hand.

Dangerous. Fenris lifted a brow at her and crossed the room, setting the bottle of wine they’d taken from her cellar on the table. His fingers brushed against her outstretched palm while he climbed over the bench. In turn, she touched the small of his back lightly before turning to the cluster of glasses in the center of the table.

“Added more rules, have we?” she asked, sliding one glass to Fenris and taking another for herself. He lifted the corkscrew from the table and passed it to her in turn.

“Just enforcing the usual ones,” Varric tilted the cards up until they shuffled downward again, then cut the deck. He waved half of it at Isabela and Hawke in turn. “I saw the two of you last time. If you can’t play nice, maybe someone has to make you.”

Hawke gasped, still busily twisting the corkscrew. Fenris steadied the other end of the bottle.

“Cheating at Wicked Grace is the point of playing Wicked Grace, as you well know,” she said, and the cork popped loose. “I cannot believe you are interfering with a time-honored tradition when you never even returned my second deck—”

“The one you intended to cheat with,” Varric said, tapping the cards back together again with a snap.

“—oh, allegedly—I never did any such thing—”

“Can’t we just start playing?” Aveline asked from the other end of the table, looking between Hawke and Varric. Hawke poured Fenris’s glass of wine first, then her own.

“—and why don’t Aveline and Fenris and Sebastian have to give up their belts or turn out their pockets, hm?” Hawke went on, glancing between the three of them. Aveline sighed heavily and took a long draught from her goblet.

“Aveline never wins,” Varric told her. “If she’s cheating, she needs the practice.”

“I’ve no need to cheat,” Sebastian added calmly, accepting his cards when Varric slid them to him. “I can win well enough without it.”

Fenris snorted and took his own cards. Under the table, Hawke looped her stockinged ankle around his.

“Why would I cheat?” he asked, wrapping his fingers around the stem of his glass. “Watching you try is more entertaining.”

“I am positively surrounded by spoilsports,” Hawke announced with an air of great tragedy. She accepted her own pile of cards with a sigh. “Where’s Merrill tonight?”

“Some holiday in the alienage,” Isabela said, shifting until her legs were crossed before her. “I told her I’d bring her regrets, but she said she’d be along eventually.”

While Isabela spoke, Hawke shifted on the bench beside Fenris, sitting back and bouncing her leg, then leaning forward again. He took a careful sip of his wine and glanced sidelong at her. Hawke ignored him and drank deeply from her own cup.

“Well, go on, then,” she told Varric. “If we’re to be proper about this.”

“One silver,” he replied, tossing a coin onto the table. “Hawke?”

She set a coin of her own on the table (nobody seemed inclined to ask where she might have produced this from; Fenris, who’d felt the tug on his own belt pouch, said nothing).

The round progressed. To the outside observer, Hawke might have seemed entirely engrossed in the round. Fenris knew better—but then, he could feel how close she sat on the bench, could feel the occasional brush of her fingers against his back or arm. She never demanded any show of affection from him before the others, for which he was grateful. What they had was for them, not for everybody else’s entertainment or speculation.

Even so, she was still herself; he did not begrudge the small gestures she offered instead. She held his hand beneath the table sometimes, or sat so close to him that their legs pressed together. And sometimes, like tonight—

Fenris straightened and turned to look at her, narrowing his eyes. Hawke smiled winningly and rested her stack of cards face-down on the table—a stack of cards slightly thicker than it ought to have been. He reached for his glass of wine, shaking his head at her, and the dimple at her cheek deepened.

“Whatever are you looking at me like that for, messere?” she asked in an undertone.

“You know quite well.”

“Truly, I’ve no idea.”

This time, he felt it when she tucked the card into his belt. Hawke tilted her head and rested her hand on his back for a moment.

Ridiculous. Of late, he spent more than half his nights in her company and yet something in his chest still caught when she looked at him like that.

“Hmm,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything to say except her name. Hawke leaned closer and turned her face away from the others.

“You did promise,” she whispered, “but if you’re having second thoughts…”

“No,” he said, because he had promised, “go on.”

“Thank you, dearest,” she said, and leaned away again.

“Now, what are the two of you whispering about?” Isabela asked, peering at them over the lantern that rested between them on the table. Fenris lifted his wineglass and took a long drink, studying his cards.

This was…most of a winning hand. He was certain he hadn’t been holding these cards before. He’d intended to fold when the round returned to him, in fact.

“Something terribly boring,” Hawke told Isabela, still smiling. “You couldn’t possibly be interested.”

“Try me,” Isabela said.

“Hawke?” Varric asked.

Hawke lay her cards on the table face-up, not bothering to glance at them again. Fenris studied them briefly, though he’d already known what he would see. They were his cards, with an extra tucked beneath. She had traded her hand for his

“If you must know,” Hawke began, lifting her glass and gesturing broadly with it. It was fortunate that she’d drunk most of it or the two of them would certainly have been doused. “I was reminding him that we need to stop by the market tomorrow. I have been wanting to buy a new pair of boots, you see; the ones I have now pinch awfully and it is rather pleasant to be playing without them on. It is so hard to find a good pair of shoes these days, don’t you think? What I wouldn’t give for one of those fine sets from Antiva with all of the tooled leather and that embroidery that looks—”

“Alright, alright,” Isabela said, taking a bun from the table and rolling her eyes. “Go on then, Fenris.”

“Raise,” he said, and set two coins on the table.

Aveline groaned.

Beside him, Hawke set her glass down. She’d finished the last sip of it and she was smiling to herself, gathering her cards into a neat stack.

When Fenris rested his hand on the table again, his elbow nudged hers as if by accident. Beneath the table, she pressed her knee against his thigh. A thanks, offered and accepted.

After the round ended (Fenris’s belt somewhat heavier for it), he did not turn again when he felt her hand at his back. He knew very well what she was doing—and he had promised, after all.

#fenhawke #fenris #fenris dragon age #maria hawke #femhawke #da2 #dragon age fic #shoutout to one of my favorite pieces of dragon age art ever though i am admittedly biased (thanks again ali! <3)#and a shoutout to my husband who has tolerated me loudly saying 'they're in love!' and pointing at this painting #every time he walks into the room

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stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage · 5 months

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I'm back on my bullshit thinking about the Hawke siblings again and how much I love a "both twins live" AU... but y'know what I love just a little bit more? An AU where all three Hawke siblings are alive, but one of the twins still get attacked by the ogre in Lothering and is presumed dead when they actually survived.

I like to think that since the narrative in DA2 is framed as a story Varric's telling Cassandra, we can play around with the fact that he's an unreliable narrator. Varric wasn't there in Lothering. He only knows what Hawke told him. It makes for a better story if Leandra, Hawke, and the surviving twin get to huddle around the dead twin and say their goodbyes... especially if they didn't actually get to do that. I mean, a lot of us already have that train of thought when it comes to Leandra's death and Hawke getting some closure through her final words telling them how proud she is. Whose to say Varric didn't do that for the lost twin, as well?

All that to ask what if the ogre attack happened, but the group was so overwhelmed by darkspawn they had to flee further and couldn't check the twin who "died?" Flemeth still showed up, but it was too late to go back and say goodbye.... so Hawke made a deal with the Witch of the Wilds and they all pushed forward to Kirkwall.

Imagine Bethany, left behind with broken bones and bleeding in the sand, fading in and out of consciousness as the remaining darkspawn surround her. She knows how to heal, how to fight back, but she's weakened. Her staff lays out of reach. Air shakes in her lungs. She tries to call for help, but only wheezes come out. Where's her mother? Her siblings? Did the ogre get them, too?

At this point, we all know what happens to the women darkspawn take, and Bethany could've met that fate; she doesn't have the strength to fight back as they drag her away. But before they can bring her underground, she's saved by another group of survivors. Perhaps they're more soldiers fleeing Ostagar, or townsfolk who recognize her from Lothering. They do what they can to treat her wounds but she needs a healer, so they bring her with them to seek refuge in Redcliffe... except they eventually realize she's an apostate. Well, she doesn't seem dangerous, but they still contact the templars.

Bethany wakes in a warm but unfamiliar bed with skilled healers tending to her. Templars hover by the doorway. First Enchanter Irving greets her, gentle in explaining she's safe inside of Kinloch Hold and that she's going to survive. When Bethany asks about her family, he gives her a sympathetic smile and says they only found her.

Bethany, who never took to embracing her magic the way her older sibling did and always felt like it burdened her family... has lost that very family. Could they survive the ogre and darkspawn? Or did the ogre tear them apart, too? How did she survive... but not them? Did the Maker really have such a sense of humor? How else would she end up in the Circle, a place her family went to great lengths to keep her safe from?

She doesn't want to think about it. She hopes they made it to Kirkwall, but the prickle of dread that crawls up her spine knows how unlikely it is. Bethany finds comfort in speaking with the mages who rotate in to heal and bring her food. Some feel trapped by their magic just as she does, but others remind her of her older sibling in the way they embrace their magic, a gift from the Maker. The younger apprentices who aid the mages ask her questions about what lies beyond the walls. The templars mostly keep their distance, but one is friendlier than others. A man with curly blonde hair and a sympathetic view of the mages bothers to speak to her more than his fellows do.

She's still in recovery when Uldred and his blood mages attack the tower, but she survives. Bethany heals, even as she's haunted by nightmares of the ogre wrapping its tainted hand around her body to crush her, flinging her aside to lay among the limp bodies of her family... haunted by the horrors the blood mages unleashed on the tower. She aids in restoring the tower the best she can, and accepts her new home, her new life. When she's well enough, she lights a candle for each of them; her father, mother, her eldest sibling, her twin... she even lights a candle for the family mabari, and prays to the Maker to give them her love as they stand at His side.

The Blight ends. Years pass. Bethany settles into her new life, becoming a fine example for the younger apprentices she mentors. She witnesses wrong doings against her fellow mages, loses friends to their harrowings or tranquility. She accepts what she is, even if bitterly. The Chantry's teachings about magic scar more than enlighten; she sees it in some of her fellow mages, feels it in herself. Secret meetings. Whispers of escape, of freedom. More escape attempts. Harsher restrictions.

Around this time, back in Kirkwall, Knight-Captain Cullen stands where he always does in the Gallows courtyard. He notices Hawke appear with some of their companions. It hurts to think back to Kinloch Hold, but something occurs to him: he knew of another Hawke who was brought to the Circle while he served there. They only spoke once before... well, before. He wonders if there's any relation. When Hawke wanders over to speak to him, as they always do, Cullen brings it up.

Hawke pales. A beat of silence. Cullen recognizes heartbreak; he sees it unfold in their eyes and swell in their throat as they realize that all this time, their baby sister was alive.

Then the day comes where new whispers float among the mages in the Circle. A visit by a Grey Warden. Most, including Bethany, assume he's here to recruit... until Irving comes to her. He says this warden's requested, though more like insisted, he see her now. But then Irving smiles; the warden in question said his name is Warden Carver. He received an urgent letter that his sister is here, alive, and he demands to know if that's true.

Bethany nearly collapses when she sees him.

While the reunion can't last; she can't leave the Circle and he has his calling; the twins embrace, sobbing out apologies and exclamations that they thought the other was gone. Carver tells her of Kirkwall, the expedition that led him to the Grey Wardens, and their older sibling's status as Champion. With a gentleness she never knew her brother to have, he tells her what happened to their mother, and more tears flow freely. Their sibling learned about her from a templar, though Carver grumbles that the bastard could've said something sooner.

There's the Maker's humor again.

...Now flip the script: imagine Carver being left behind instead.

For as strong and passionate as he is, that ogre still picks him up and slams him to the ground. Bones crack. Black splotches flood his vision, agony exploding across his skin. His sword flies from his hand. The soulless bastard tosses Carver aside like he's nothing, and he's left to lay there. His mother's cries muffle in his ear as though he's stuck underwater, sinking slowly into the dark.

It figured, honestly... that he'd survive Ostagar while his fellow soldiers were cut down all around him, that he and his eldest sibling would flee the field when all hope was lost... that he'd make it home to get his family out of Lothering... only to die protecting his mother. And why not? He is a protector. A warrior. It's a honor to die saving those he loved... so why didn't it give him peace?

Carver eventually wakes in the night among the bodies of fallen darkspawn. Everything aches painfully hot and his thoughts reject coherency. He knows his family is gone; they're dead, or they've fled... either way, he's alone; left behind. Something's broken inside of him, but he has just enough will to pull himself up at the sound of approaching footsteps. A group of survivors find him- funny enough, the same group who aided Bethany in an alternate timeline. Imagine that.

That's how Carver ended up in Redcliffe's Chantry with an overworked healer tending to him. He doesn't even flinch when the mage works their magic on him, knowing all too well the sensation of healing magic seeping into his skin, mending the flesh. He tries not to think of Bethany, or what might've happened to her.

The Chantry's overwhelmed with townspeople hiding from a danger outside that he can only assume is darkspawn... except it's not. He wonders how hard he hit his head when he hears the undead have come from the castle to slaughter what they can of the town every night. But then he sees it with his own eyes when one breaks in, taken down by a templar, and never before has he ever felt so useless.

Then the last two remaining Grey Wardens arrive. They're crucial in the final fight against the undead, swearing to enter the castle to stop the attacks at the source. While Carver couldn't participate in the final fight, something he complained loudly about, he did what he could in his condition to help like sharpening swords and handing out supplies. Mostly to keep his sanity and quite his thoughts throughout his recovery.

When the time came, he took up his sword again in the name of all those he lost.

An archdemon was said to be on the horizon, and the Grey Wardens needed everyone they could get to fight. Carver fights in the battle of Denerim where the Hero of Fereldan defeated the archdemon. He cuts his way through every darkspawn he sees. Ostagar flashes red behind his eyes. Lothering clutches at his heart. So much anger and sorrow built up inside him, flooding out in his tears and screams. Blood everywhere. Fire and smoke.

Then it's over.

In the aftermath of the Blight, like so many others, Carver has no home to return to. No family. He thinks to go back to Lothering to help rebuild, only to hear the lands were too tainted. These tainted creatures took everything from him... That's what eventually brings him to Vigil's Keep, standing before the Hero of Fereldan themself, asking to be made a Grey Warden. He already dedicated nearly two years of his life to killing darkspawn, and he had nothing else. Even when faced with the Joining, holding the chalice of darkspawn blood and being told to drink, he didn't flinch.

Life as a Grey Warden isn't as simple as he assumed it would be, but Carver finds purpose in his calling. Over the years, he grows to view his fellow wardens as family. He travels all over Thedas, venturing down into the Deep Roads to help clear out hoards of the darkspawn. But then comes the day he finds himself in Kirkwall, and it doesn't take long before he hears the name Hawke on the lips of the townspeople. His eldest sibling was not only alive, but they're quite popular among the people. But what about Mother? Bethany? He doesn't have to snoop too far to learn templars took Bethany away to the Gallows, and that Leandra Hawke was the final victim in a string of murders committed by a blood mage.

Carver finds himself standing outside the estate, glaring at the door. Furious. Heartbroken. Bitter. He wants to scream. This entire time, they lived. He's torn between wanting to reunite with his older sibling again, to get the truth from them, and wanting to barge into the estate, demanding answers to how they could let the Circle take Bethany... after what Carver sacrificed, how could they let Mother die like that? Was it all pointless in the end?

He leaves without knocking. He can't bring himself to see them. Not that it mattered. Before he could leave Kirkwall, the tensions with the qunari finally overflowed, and chaos fell upon the city. He's forced face to face with his older sibling again, but he wasn't prepared to watch the recognition slowly bloom on their face, or for all his anger to turn to mush. Carver's the first to speak.

"Somehow, I knew it would be you."

.............So, yeah. I really like this idea.

#da2 #dragon age 2 #bethany hawke #carver hawke #long post #there are so many routes you can take with this too like hawke finds out bethany's alive in fereldan's circle #and they gather all their companions like 'y'all we're doing a heist' 'great what are we stealing?' 'my sister'#'...isn't your sister dead?' 'APPARENTLY NOT'#or carver and anders could know each other from the wardens and one day anders tells hawke that they remind him of another warden he knew #and hawke is like '.............that little shit survived and he didn't tell me?? i'm telling mother'#OR both bethany and carver end up as wardens and happen to run into each other like '????? I thought you were dead?????'#and tbh bethany doesn't have to end up in the circle or carver with the wardens. that's just the paths i explored #maybe they're found by the warden and alistair who have wynne fix them up and they join the dao party #hell this could be backstory for an inquisitor carver or inquisitor bethany in dai #also yes this post is my way of saying that i love this idea but i'll probably never turn it into a fic so let me gush about it this way

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