I know, as the eldest, having a favourite sibling is as frowned upon as if one's parents have a favourite child. But I also know, at my esteemed age of twenty-five, that you end up liking some members of your family more than others. I don't think there's anything right or wrong about it—it's just a preference. Out of all us Hawke kids, Bethany was the most likeable. From the second she was born, she was sweet and kind, and all of Lothering just loved her. We all did. Carver, however, was the opposite. Carver was stubborn and sullen most of the time, but he had his moments too. Since he was a kid, I noticed all his quiet, peaceful moments. They came when he was concentrating on a new puzzle Father had brought for me, which I never cared for, or when he thought he was alone in the courtyard, training with my hand-me-down swords. I teased him about it once, and the look of betrayal and the hot rage that followed was well deserving. I had, unknowingly, by teasing him at his most vulnerable, hurt him. And as much as Carver and I fought, I never wanted to hurt him. It wasn't just because Carver was my baby brother. It was because he was my favourite.
Carver was tough. He never took in account that he was younger and smaller than me. As soon as he was old enough to see that I had a sword and what I could do with it, he wanted one too. Carver had grit. For a few years, he was the smallest in his class. Bethany was almost a full head taller than him until they hit the age of twelve. Once he started growing, he just wouldn't stop. He became taller than me, then Father. He would boast that he was taller than that caged Qunari we had for a while in the village, though when I suggested he let him out and really see who was bigger, he would always find some excuse or another.
My little brother was fire, and most surprisingly, loyal. Carver followed me to Ostagar, though we fought about it for ages. I told him he was too young, and he challenged me to a duel. I won, obviously, but Carver, soaked in sweat and mud, demanded another. And another. And yet, another. Finally, with both of us sore and exhausted, I conceded. I knew he was a good soldier and would be the best man to have at my side, but I didn't tell him that. Instead, I told him to make sure he kept his fly shut during the battle, there was no need for the Hawkes to become a laughingstock among the darkspawn.
Though he would never admit it, he looked to me for leadership, and I gave it to him, as much as I could. He saved my life as much as I saved his. We shared our food and filled each other's cups. Once I stuck some of my rations into his own pack, but found it back in mine later that night. The war was bloody, but never let it touch our family's bond.
The last time I made Carver laugh was the night Loghain betrayed King Cailan. We stood, shoulder to shoulder, eyes fixed on our golden king, proud Fereldans fighting the Blight. Without looking at Carver, I said, "You know, King Cailan and I aren't so different. Both of us are stunningly beautiful. Both of us are the oldest children of remarkable men."
"I swear to the Maker, Sister—"
"And both of us have younger brothers that people aren't sure really exist."
I turned to Carver, and surprisingly, saw he wasn't angry in the slightest. He looked in what seemed like wonder. "How can you joke at a time like this? How do you do that?"
The sky darkened and the stench of the approaching darkspawn grew stronger by the second. All around us stood soldiers, frightened, resigned, furious, proud. It took all my effort, but I managed to grin at my little brother. "Your ugly face is my inspiration, Carver."
Carver laughed, a booming sound that echoed across the field. Soldiers peered at us, visibly lightened, curious, fear ebbing from their faces. My kid brother, tall as a tree and just a wide, chuckled loudly, wiping tears from his eyes. "You're welcome, I suppose," he said. "We might die tonight, Sister. If that's the case, thank you for the last laugh."
The war-horn gave a tremendous blow and silence fell over us all. I glanced at Carver for the last time as King Cailan began to speak. Carver's eyes were battle-bright, and he was calm, the vestiges of his laugh still on his mouth. That's how I'll remember him. Carver, laughing, eyes shining. My little brother. My favourite.