Hawke lay in her bed, eyes wide, breath quick, covering her mouth to stop her sobs becoming audible.
Shit. Another night terror... How many has that been now?
With a stifled groan, she hauled herself up and leaned back against the grimy wall. Rubbing her bloodshot eyes, she peered around the dark room and noticed that the lavender candle had long since burned out, leaving the room enshrined in complete darkness, the sour smell of the house once again prevailing. Bethany's light snores rumbled under her, assuring her that she was awake, some sort of a sense of relief in her muddled brain.
The nightmare seemed like a distant memory now, although the thought of it was etched onto her brain and had been for months now. She couldn't close her eyes for a moment without seeing Carver's petrified face, splattered in blood, defenceless as the ogre picked him up and-
She shook her head, trying to rid the image from her mind. She'd lived that moment once, she didn't need to relive it every time she managed to fall asleep.
Maybe my brain is trying to tell me something? She thought to herself, running a shaky hand through her hair. Mother's right, isn't she? Carver's death is my fault... I could have stopped him, maybe strategeized, pulled him back... anything...
Hawke shook her head more viciously this time and shuddered.
Well, I think that's enough sleep for tonight.
The ladder of the makeshift bunk groaned as she climbed down, making it damn near impossible to be silent, but nobody seemed to wake. There was no point staying here, wallowing in pathetic self pity and perfectly justified self loathing. She found what she needed, fumbled her armour together, slipped on her boots, and shoved on her knives. Not that she would go anywhere without them. Quiet as a mouse (quieter, in fact, than the ones that also called Gamlen's hovel a home), she crept out of the house and made her way to the Hanged Man.
The sun was only just rising behind a cloudy sky, the city still shrouded in darkness. The distant call of the seagulls screeched overhead as she made her way through the streets, tiptoeing around the thugs and bandits she passed. She knew how to use the deep shadows to her advantage, praying not to meet any trouble. She just couldn't be arsed fighting right now, even if there would be coin involved.
"I hope you've not come here for a drink." Corff moaned as Hawke approached, wiping down the filthy bar with an equally filthy rag.
"I ehh.. I'm just waiting for breakfast service." Hawke shrugged, attempting to snap out of her sleepwalk.
"We're closing for the night, Hawke. Everyone's getting chucked out in a few minutes." He looked up, seeing Hawke's worn and wary face, his own softening. "But eh... I guess I can trust you, what with stopping those bar fights and all. You'll have to hand over some coin for a drink though."
Hawke reluctantly handed over a few bits for a weak, warm tankard and looked for a place to sit. Weaving in and out through the thin crowds of drunks - most of which were sleeping at the tables - she managed to find a suitable table in the darkest available corner. With a heavy sigh of relief, she plonked herself and her drink down, getting somewhat comfy.
If only she could check in on Varric... but no. He wouldn't appreciate being woken at this time. Plus, they'd only seen each other a few hours ago. Not that she was counting or anything. He didn't need to hear about her problems, especially when he had so many of his own. And between the Merchants Guild, the expedition planning, the odd jobs she dragged him through on almost a daily basis and the drinking they'd do afterwards, the poor man probably never had a spare moment to himself.
She drummed her fingers on the table, brows furrowing in thought. This would be a long wait and she knew it. She took a few sips just to quench her dry throat - thankful that she'd almost gotten used to the drink here - and sat, taking in the lulled atmosphere. It was almost pleasant at this time of day, dwindled crowds, hushed voices, occasional snores... Slowly, slowly, bit by bit her eyes began to open a little less with each blink and her head grew heavy, gently nodding a strange, slow rhythm.
Wait, had it always been this dark in here?
"Marian."
Why was someone saying her name? And where was she? She looked around to see an unfamiliar barren wasteland, but then she realised; she recognised that voice!
"C-Carver?" Hawke gasped, turning to see her brother in front of her, "You're okay!? I thought something happened to you!"
Happy didn't even begin to describe how she felt as she rushed towards him, arms extended and face beaming, but he outright ignored the invitation and instead stood stoic and apathetic, pushing her away. Over the years she'd grown to despise his clingy nature, even though he tried to hide it, but this was cause for celebration! What the heck was going on?
"Why, Marian?" He huffed, using his inch of extra height to look down his nose at her.
"W-what?"
"Why did you let me die?"
The memory returned, every last ounce of blood. She could never escape it. Carver's beaten, bloody face stared back at her. Deathly. Motionless.
Dead.
"It's your fault." He spat, shoving her backwards almost onto the ground. "You bullied me into fighting that ogre and you didn't even try to stop me! All those times you told me to prove myself, to do my part to protect our family. If you were a better sister then I'd still be here!"
"I tried, Carver! I really did!" She cried, unsure if she even believed it herself.
"You didn't, Marian. You're just a piece of shit." He sneered, walking closer to her, "You wanted to be the hero of this family. You didn't want anyone to take your place!"
Carver came closer still, pushing and pushing her, harder each time until she fell to the ground. She hauled herself to her feet and tried to reason with him, to bargain with him. Shadows appeared around her, a wall that stopped her from walking backwards. Franticly, she spun around, trying to make sense of the shadows, dark and cold. Somehow, she managed to make out Bethany's face, withdrawn and uncaring.
"Bethany, I-"
"Just fuck off, idiot." Cried Bethany, shoving her to the ground. "Why couldn't you have died instead of him?"
"Please..." She begged, gasping for breath, "I didn't mean for him to die!"
More faces appeared from the darkness. Mother, Gamlen, what little friends she had back in Lothering. She tried to scream, but no-one bothered to listen. No-one cared. She fumbled to her hands and knees and tried to crawl away, but her mother grabbed her collar and yanked her back, hitting the hard ground with a thud.
"I wish you were never born." She screamed, kicking her back down when she tried to get back again.
"You don't deserve the rags you sleep on." Gamlen sneered, stomping on her hand, a loud crunch underfoot.
"Piece of shit." Spat Carver, pulling her hair.
"Hawke." A soft, distant voice called.
They were right, she deserved this. She'd let Carver down. She'd let Malcolm down. Maker, she'd let her whole family down. The only thing that could make this worse would be seeing her dad. She couldn't bare to see him right now. He'd be so ashamed of who she'd become. A murderer, a wreck, a-
"Hawke?" The voice called, more urgent this time, snapping her awake.
The room span as she jumped up, banging her knee on the table. Her hands reached for her blades out of habit, stumbling over her own feet. Not so light-footed now, was she?
"Calm, calm. It's just me." The voice spoke.
She focused her wary eyes to see Varric in front of her and put away her blades. What a sight for sore eyes.
"Sorry about that." She mumbled.
"No need to apologise, you need to sleep with your eyes open in this place." Varric noted the nearly empty tankard in front of Hawke, "It's a little early for you to be on the booze, is it not?"
"Shut up, knobhead." She murmured, rubbing her eyes.
"Couldn't sleep at home?"
"Ehhh... You know what it's like. Gamlen... Mother... Bethany... I can't get any time for myself, I can't remember the last time I could."
"Are you okay, Hawke?"
That question filled her with a strange sense of dread. How could she even begin to answer that? It wasn't important anyway. Instead, she just sighed and shrugged her shoulders.
"Come on, let's go to my room. I could probably whip you up some tea or something." She caught his eye, noticing a familiar look. "You look like you need it."
Reluctantly, she followed him upstairs. Her legs felt heavier than lead, every step almost unbearable as she gripped onto the wall for support. Where had she seen that look before?
It had been in an abandoned warehouse, after a raid. Hawke was looting the dead bandits, Anders healing Isabela and Varric was checking Bianca for damage.
"What's happened to you?" He mumbled calmly to himself, but the look in his eyes gave away how he truly felt. Worried? Concerned? Well, Hawke had never really been one for words.
"Is there something wrong with Bianca?" Hawke asked, pocketing her findings.
"She's just... a little jammed I think."
The group seemed to still, watching Varric mutter curses under his breath, fiddling with the intricate crossbow with his nimble fingers. Hawke shot a look to Isabela, who shrugged back. Shit, Bianca wasn't really broken, was she?
Suddenly, there was a loud clunk and the crossbow retracted, Varric's shoulders falling in relief.
"Oh, thank fuck!" Varric wheezed, "If something happened to her I swear I'd learn necromancy and bring these buggers back to life, just to kill them again."
He checked her over a few more times, handling her as if she was the most important thing in his world. What was she thinking, of course she was!
"Onwards then?" Hawke asked, turning in the direction of the exit. It was time for a drink.
"Lead the way, Hawke."
Varric closed the door behind Hawke and invited her to sit down.
"So... I don't mean to pry, but... What's going on, Hawke?"
Hawke shrugged her shoulders and slunk into a spare chair, legs sprawled out.
"Would it kill you to get some human-sized furniture up here?" She moaned.
"Don't change the subject. You've not been yourself this past while."
"I'm just a bit overworked... you know, getting money for the expedition."
"Is that it?" Varric asked slightly sceptically, dragging a chair towards Hawke, sitting down and leaning in to listen.
"It's just stressful, you know, having to hide Bethany. I feel like I'll turn around for one minute and when I look she'll have been taken to the circle. The sooner the expedition gets going, the better."
"She's safe for the time being, I've got people looking out for her."
"Thanks." She sighed, leaning her head on her fist.
Silence prevailed as he watched her fingernails tap out a soft rhythm on the table. She sighed deeply, staring intently at nothing at all.
"I've known you a year now, Hawke, and I know when something's still eating at you."
"Something's always eating me." She cocked an eyebrow and looked him in the eye. "I think it's Isabela's turn next."
A chuckle escaped his lips and a twinkle met his eye, but he pushed that down to look stern again.
"That's not what I mean, Hawke. If you don't want to tell me then I can't force it out of you. I just want to help."
"You help enough already." She sighed, shuffling about, her bum already numb. Whoever thought sitting on stone was a good idea?
"All I do is go around shooting people for you. It's not exactly much."
She shrugged and pursed her lips. He did a lot more for her than that and he knew it.
"I don't know about you," He continued, "but I consider you one of my best friends and I'd hate to think of you trying to go through something alone."
"You don't need to bother yourself. It's not important."
"How many times have I moaned about Bartrand or the Merchant's Guild to you? What about the other night when I rambled on and on about my editor?"
Maybe saying something wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
"I just..." Hawke began, staring intently into her lap, "I still don't think I've really gotten over Carver's death."
"It's only been... what, two years?"
Hawke nodded. "Pretty much. I wish he could be here..." Hawke murmured, finally meeting Varric's understanding gaze, "And I miss him. I miss seeing him. I miss talking to him. I miss making fun of him..." Hawke's lips turned up into what could almost be described as a smile, but her eyes conveyed how she truly felt. "Maker, I even miss arguing with him..."
She paused for a moment. Shit, figuring out how to put her feelings into words was hard. Varric was good at describing things, wasn't he? He was a writer, after all. Thank goodness Hawke had no such writerly dreams.
"And I just... I hate the atmosphere at home right now. Everyone blames me for Carver's death and even my own mind is telling me conflicting things. I don't know who to believe."
"You did everything you could to stop him?" It took Hawke a moment to realise it was a question.
She shrugged. "I thought I did, but now I'm not so sure."
"Honestly Hawke, I don't think it's your fault. What were you supposed to do, reach up and grab him back from the ogre?"
"I could have done something..."
"'Could have's are deadly, Hawke. They'll eat you up until there's nothing left of you. You did all you could and no-one could ask for any more than that."
She sat silently, looking over at the empty tankard at the other end of the table, left from last night, eyes glazed over. She shifted again in her seat, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. A babyish position, yes, but less babyish than crying.
"So you've been keeping this all to yourself?" He prodded.
"Who could I speak to?" Hawke sighed, letting her hands fall to her sides. "Who could I actually tell? Who would actually listen? I don't want to burden Mother... or Bethany... or anyone else with all this drivel. Shit, I shouldn't even be telling you!" She swallowed down a hot lump, fire behind her eyes. "How could I speak to Mother anyway when she thinks it's my fault? Bethany doesn't get involved and I wouldn't want to get her involved. She has enough to worry about. And even Gamlen turns away when we talk about Carver. I don't think he notices, but he would have loved a nephew, I can see it in his face."
"What about Rivaini? Daisy? Even Blondie?"
"They have their own problems, Varric."
Varric nodded slowly in agreement. It was true that she didn't really have anyone to confide in. He reached his hand out to Hawke's shoulder, to show sympathy, but she shrugged it off, trying to ignore her suddenly frantic heartrate.
"Sorry, Varric." She murmured, lowering her head, rubbing her forehead and blinking rapidly, "I'm just not... I haven't had much non-violent human contact in a while."
Varric shook his head, "To be honest, I can't remember the last person I actually wanted non-violent contact with." He shifted his eyes and mumbled, "Apart from Bianca, I guess."
"You and that goddamn crossbow." She chuckled weakly, "Get a room, you two!"
Varric chuckled too, but he didn't have the heart to tell her that wasn't exactly what he meant. No, she didn't need to know.
"So I guess now you know just how fucked up I am... or at least why I'm so fucked up."
"I think all you need to do right now is give yourself time and space to grieve." He spoke, softly.
"That's not exactly possible when we're stepping on each other's toes at Gamlen's."
"You're free to visit me up here whenever it gets a bit much. It's nice having company that isn't business related. My palatial suite is your palatial suite, and all that."
"So I can visit any time?" She smirked weakly, "I'm sure I'm going to take you up on that offer."
"Sure. And If there's ever anything I can do for you then please let me know."
She nodded lightly and fell silent for a while, taking in the quiet surroundings and the comfortable company. Maker, what did she do to deserve someone like him?
"Don't let me keep you up, it must be really late now."
"It's early, Hawke."
"Early? What time is it?"
"It's just past 9 now."
Hawke's brow furrowed, eyes widening, looking down at the ground. She tapped her fingers lightly, trying to count how many hours of sleep she had. Four? Five? Maybe even six? That was definitely the best night's sleep in a while.
"So..." Hawke spoke, clearing her voice, "what's the plan for today then?"
"It's up to you. I've got some more information that's come through if you want to follow any of the leads."
Varric tossed a pile of notes over and Hawke leafed though. Varric's handwriting was definitely nice to look at. For one thing, it was actually the other hand, Hawke's was only legible to her. Who would need to read anything she wrote anyway? It was a sort of a protection kind of thing. What was she doing again? Oh yeah.
Fuck, she was exhausted.
"We'll see what the other's think." Hawke sighed, standing up and stretching, "All I know is that I need something to get my mind off all this..." She gestured to her head, "this shit."
Varric nodded, grabbed his coat and opened the door. His ear was immediately met by a few familiar voices having a heated discussion.
"Speaking of the others, I'm sure I can hear the Elf and Blondie at each other's throats already."
Hawke stood, listening for a moment. "Oh yeah... I think it's about the chantry this time!"
"Come on," he coaxed, "breakfast is on me today."
It was time for her least favourite part of the day. She followed him down the stairs, breathing in deeply, forcing her mouth upwards and her eyes relaxing. It was time to put her mask back on, whether she liked it or not.
"How did I know you'd be here?" Bethany started the moment she came into view.
"And a good morning to you, too." Hawke proclaimed with no missing notes of sarcasm. "Don't worry, I was only here to escape your snoring."
Bethany flushed bright red and lowered her head, her eyes shifting, "I-I don't snore!"
"Sure, sis. And I'm a templar here to arrest you."
Bethany rolled her eyes and shook her head, her eyes darting to Anders, who was unable to pry his eyes from Hawke.
"That's not even funny!" Bethany cried. "And anyway, I really don't snore!"
She took a spare chair at the other head of their usual table, which was noticeably less busy than it was during Wicked Grace last night. Of course, Aveline was on duty, Merrill was likely frolicking through the gardens in Hightown and Isabela was never known to emerge from her room until noon.
"Blood sausage sandwich, Hawke?" Varric asked, sitting beside her and waving over the bar staff.
"You know me too well." Hawke smirked, winking.
"Oh, get a room you two!" Sneered Bethany.
"Don't worry, sunshine, I have one."
"Varric!" Hawke howled, punching him jokingly on the arm. That really wasn't the sort of thought she needed right now.
Varric laughed and shook his head, leaning forward and looking over at Hawke longingly. "You all know there's only one woman for me."
Hawke's heart pounded under his gaze. It was a joke, of course it was! It had to be, surely, but he left the punchline a split second too long. But then he sat back, raised an eyebrow and proudly tapped Bianca, who was resting under the table, protected between his legs.
"How did I ever see that coming?" groaned Fenris.
Hawke forced a laugh out of habit and shook her head, using the bad joke to laugh off the unease she felt. That twisted knot in her stomach wouldn't go away, no matter how much she ate. If anything, it made matters worse. Maybe a pick-me-up from the bar could help her through the day. To be honest, after the night she'd had she did kind of deserve it.
"Actually, Varric, could I have a tankard too if there's one going?"
"Sure." He shrugged.
The glare from Bethany was possibly one of the worst yet, but it wasn't worth acknowledging.
The tankard arrived within minutes and Hawke used it an an excuse not to engage in the current conversation. The lack of sleep was already catching up with her and she could barely concentrate enough to string a sentence together in her head, let alone out loud. At least the tankard was helping, a little. Bethany's glare persisted though.
"Sis, you really shouldn't be drinking this early!" She eventually spoke.
"You're not the one that had to deal with your snoring!" She retorted, surprised she was making sense. "And don't get me started on what you were saying in your sleep-"
"T-That's enough, Marian!" Bethany cried, eyes widening and darting towards Anders.
I knew it! She smirked to herself.
"Fine, fine..." Bethany yielded, "Do what you want..."
"What's the plan for today then?" Fenris asked Hawke, who - in turn - looked over at Varric, raising her eyebrows. Mother always taught her not to speak with her mouth full.
"Well, we have a few leads on information I've been collecting." He said, throwing a bunch of notes into the middle of the table.
Everyone fumbled through the papers, skim reading through.
"Anyone have a preference?" He asked.
"The wounded coast sounds good to me." Anders said, "Bit of fresh air wouldn't go amiss right now."
"Of all the places..." Varric grumbled, "Have I ever mentioned how much I hate the wounded coast?"
"Only twenty times that I can think of." Hawke retorted between bites.
The last of the sandwich was crammed into Hawke's mouth and the rest of her tankard was downed before Varric could complain any more.
"Everyone ready to go?" She asked, .cracking her neck to get rid of some of the tension from sleeping with her head on a table.
The group grumbled in agreement and rose from the table, readying for a long day.
