"And you could do better? How well did you guard your own mother? Did she not die by a blood mage's hands?"
The words rang in her ears; a ceaseless mantra.
"How well did you guard your own mother?"
There had been more. More words from Meredith. More from Orsino and then from Elthina. Hawke was sure she had spoken as well; but the only words she could remember were the ones still running in endless circles through her mind.
"Did she not die by a blood mage's hands?"
She had somehow arrived back at the estate; not that it had been far. At some point Varric had been there, Bella too. And Fenris.
But they were gone now; and she didn't know when they had left.
"How well did you guard your own mother?"
She now found herself outside her late mother's chambers; a room she had not entered once in the last three years.
"Did she not die by a blood mage's hands?"
A wave of nausea swept through the Champion, her eyes pricking with the tears she would not allow to fall.
Pushing open the door, she forced herself to take the step across the threshold.
Nothing had changed. Not a thing had been moved, and the room had been kept spotlessly clean and free of dust. Her mother had always hated dust.
She ran her fingers across the doors to the large armoire before taking a breath to steel herself; and grasped the handles to open the doors gently.
The gowns still hung there; pale pinks and lavenders with accents of deep purple or occasionally deep blue and black. Some were trimmed with lace, others embroidered in gold.
She ran her fingers over the expensive fabrics; heavy velvets and lightweight silks or linens. Stopping on one she had never seen her mother wear.
She pulled the gown from the wardrobe sending a paper fluttering from the hanger as she did so. Bending to retrieve the paper, she saw it was a string of numbers. Familiar numbers. These were her measurements, the ones her father's old robes had been adjusted to for her.
"And you think you could do better?"
She clasped the paper to her, crumpling it in the process; but she could not let it fall. Her mother hated things to be left lying around.
She closed the armoire carefully, taking the gown her mother had made for her over to the bed. It was still made up in the deep burgundy her mother had favoured for the room.
Setting down the garment she began to disrobe; folding each article of clothing carefully before setting them on the edge of the bed in a neat pile. It wouldn't do for there to be clothing strewn about in the chambers of Leandra Amell.
"How well did you guard your own mother?"
Removing the gown from the hanger, she loosened the ribbons and proceeded to step into the gown and pulling it over her body.
The icy blue silk was beautiful. A colour her mother had endlessly tried to get her to wear as it brought out the colour of her eyes; but she had resisted in favour of red.
"Did she not die by a blood mage's hands?"
Hawke closed her eyes and pulled the ribbons as tightly as she could. It was beautiful. Orlesian in style; off the shoulder tight fitting bodice and full flowing skirt, though somewhat toned down from what she knew was worn by the nobility there.
She made her way over to her mother's vanity; perching neatly on the stool as she stared into the looking glass.
Dark brown, almost black hair waving slightly to her shoulders, fringe covering the scar she received the day Bethany's powers had manifested.
Bethany
"And you think you could do better?"
She had not been able to save Bethany either. Her beautiful brave sister had not made it as far as Kirkwall.
Hawke had not been as pretty as Bethany; her features more striking and angular than soft and feminine. But the shape of their eyes and the curve of their lips had marked them as siblings.
She stared into her own eyes then; a piercing blue, the exact same shad as Carver's
Carver
"And you think you could do better?"
She had failed him too, in so many ways. At the very least he was still living and breathing thanks to Anders. Now he was far away in an order that were known for their sacrifices to keep the world safe; probably risking his life more often than she did and without the option to walk away.
And before that, she had been the reason he had been forced to live in the shadows and lie to keep her secrets. She did not blame him for the resentment that had built up over the years; every slip she had made that forced them to move.
They were finally managing to repair their relationship and form a growing respect for each other, when she had dragged him into the deep roads and she had nearly lost him too.
"And you think you could do better?"
Feeling the bile beginning to rise in her throat, she looked away from her reflection and at the items her mother had kept on display.
A simple wooden jewellery box; a silver griffon statuette; a framed sketch her father had drawn of her mother when they were expecting her, the charcoal strokes capturing her mother's hopeful beauty as she caressed her swollen belly.
"How well did you guard your own mother?"
She replaced the frame where it had been in pride of place and tentatively picked up a hairbrush her mother had usually kept in a box.
She stroked the soft bristles gently before pulling it through her hair once. Her mother had always loved fussing with hair; hers, Bethany's, probably even Orana's if she had had her way.
"How well did you guard your own mother?"
Replacing the brush atop the vanity she pulled open the top drawer to find the box that usually housed the precious item.
Having stowed the brush and box in their rightful places, Hawke absent-mindedly tugged the other drawer open. She was not sure what she had expected her mother to have kept in here; correspondence maybe, or sentimental trinkets unsuitable for display. What she had not expected was to find a stack of additional sketches.
Some of the older ones she recognised as her father's work; herself with a mabari puppy grinning; the twins holding hands curled up asleep; Bethany and herself with matching short haircuts after Carver had nailed Bethany's braid to the bed post; Carver struggling to list a sword as tall as he was; her mother cooking.
But the newer ones could only have been drawn by her mother; Varric caressing his crossbow in the study; Sebastian lighting candles in the Chantry; Aveline and Carver arm wrestling in Gamlen's hovel; Merrill curled up with the dog by the fire; Sandal swinging from the chandelier while Bodahn tried to grab him from the railing; Ander's wrapping a bandage around Isabella's ankle in the foyer; Herself teaching Fenris to read in the library.
Her breath hitched when she saw this one. They were sat close together but not quite touching; she was pointing at something in the book he was holding, but he was looking at her; his mouth quirked up in a half smile.
Fenris
"And you think you could do better?"
A familiar pang shot through her chest as she traced his features in this sketch. Another she had failed. She flipped through the next couple of drawings in the pile and saw they also contained the beautiful tormented elf. Unable to look through the rest of the pile she gently replaced the pile in the drawer
"How well did you guard your own mother?"
Hawke was trembling all over now.
Bethany; lost.
Caver; gone.
Fenris; failed and hurting
Mother; dead
How long until she failed another? Who would be next? Bella? Seb? Varric?
The progression of her thoughts chilled her to the bone. She felt so lost and alone; emotions she had been refusing to allow to surface swirling through her entire being; stirring up her mana.
Hawke had never allowed herself to lose control; not once since her magic had manifested. Even now she knew that she would never submit to the whispers of demons. Nothing in this world or the next could undo what she had already done, not done or had allowed to happen.
"Did she not die by a blood mage's hands?"
Her eyes drifted back to her reflection. Empty, haunted icy orbs stared blankly back at her; still not betraying the storm of emotions flooding through her system.
She could let go now; lose control, destroy everything around her. She was as dangerous as any entity lurking in the fade; it was why the world feared her kind and reviled them, locking them away to rot.
"Did she not die by a blood mage's hands?"
She had tried; tried so hard to be more than this. Tried to live as her father had lived; by serving that which was best and not most base within her. But for what?
"How well did you guard your own mother? Did she not die by a blood mage's hands?"
What mark had she left on the world? Nothing but a string of death, destruction and disappointment.
"And you think you could do better?"
No wonder Fenris had left; he had seen the worst of her kind after all. Perhaps he still likened her to a demon.
"What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?"
She spoke these words aloud as she remained staring blankly into the mirror; letting her magic flow through her, pouring into the room. The looking glass frosted over, obscuring her reflection before cracking as the snow began to whirl around her bare shoulders